Neverland
by DG Phillips
Summary: An imaginative re-telling of J.M.Barrie's classic story. Set in the theatre of London, young orphan Peter discovers a world of magic and adventure. A world where no matter how old you are, you never have to grow up. Please R&R :)
1. Part One

**A/N **Sooooo, basically, this is a re-telling, (just to clear that up). Barrie's characters are slightly older then depicted in the original work, and their personalities might be slightly altered too. Hope nobody finds that offensive! I love Peter Pan and I've had so much fun writing this. Please let me know if you like it too :) And now, on with the show!

(PS Part Two has already been finished and is just being polished up).

**Neverland**

An Imaginative Re-Telling Of 'Peter Pan' Based On The Novel "Peter And Wendy" By J.M. Barrie

**PART ONE:**

_Mr Barrie's Theatre_

Mr Barrie did not own the theatre on CherryTree Lane, but no one who lived in London would ever refer to it as anything other then Mr Barrie's theatre. (Well, _almost_ no one, but we'll come back to that). Mr Barrie was a scottish playwright, quite well known already, even though he had yet to bring even a dozen plays to the stage and many people were curious as to what he was now doing running a theatre. He had received an offered to take on the management three months ago and had accepted promptly.

Perhaps it was because of his background, but everyone agreed that Mr Barrie had slipped into his role so efficiently and triumphantly it was a wonder he hadn't been there the whole time. He handled his customers with care, knowing exactly how to indulge the grand lords and ladies that came, and how to turn away ruffians before anyone even knew of their distracting presence. He was a marvel backstage too. He could restore the prima donna into a tranquil child, calm the playwright who fretted about his masterpiece being heckled and figure out exactly where the prop master left the pirate's swords.

He was a tranquil breeze which flowed through the theatre, relaxing all those he came into contact with. Amidst the rush of emotions and chaos that reigned on an opening night, he was the unflustered head that everyone needed. The eye of the storm.

"And after all", he told his friend, and fellow writer, Mr Doyle, after he'd announced his new position to him. "What better place for me to write a new play then in a theatre itself? I might find just the inspiration I need there".

Peter had never been to the theatre. While out on a scavenge, he often heard his clients talking about the shows they'd seen. They sounded incredible. Men and women performing stories the same way people imagined them.

The theatre on CherryTree Lane was a spot Peter often haunted. It attracted a lot of the lower classes, but a great deal of lords brought their families there for an evening out. A trip to the theatre for them was a time to dress up. The ladies wore sparkly jewellery and carried purses inlaid with gemstones. The gentlemen wore their pocket watches loosely and often dressed in gold and silver cufflinks.

It was the perfect time to relieve them of their possessions, when they were still merry after the performance and unobservant of the little waif scurrying about around them. However, the jewels on the ladies' trinkets were so tiny they fetched next to nothing at pawn shops, and the gold on the gentlemen's attire more often then not was old and tarnished. Such was the standard in that part of London. The people with real wealth went to Drury Lane and Covent Garden to see shows. But Peter was far too scared to chance thieving there, no matter how skilled he was. Peter had been picking pockets since he left the orphanage, and he'd become very good at it. Nowadays he was no more then a shadow to his victims. A fleeting shade that they could only barely remember when they realised that a robbery had taken place.

It was harder in daylight. The theatre never opened during the day, so Peter would trail several streets in London before finding a suitably crowded one, or at least one far from any constables. He only thieved in daylight when he was really desperate, as it was far too easy to get nicked.

And on this particular day, he was desperate.

He stood nonchalantly in the mouth of an alley, whistling under his breath. A group of respectably dressed gentlemen exited the building opposite him and made their way down the street, all save one who nodded to his companions and set off in the opposite direction. Peter waited until his friends had retreated round the corner, then made after the lone gentleman.

Coming out in the dark after a theatre show, people were never in their right minds, never on the alert. During the day, people's minds were sharper and their wits keener. So Peter had long ago thought up a useful tactic, which, though risky, had a tendency to work. Taking a back street, Peter raced down an alleyway and emerged at the top of Pearce Street, with his intended victim now heading towards him. He waited until the man was almost on top of him and then dashed out of his hiding place, straight into his path.

"Oh! I say!" the gentlemen cried, as Peter careered head first into him.

Peter pushed off the man and bowed his head quickly.

"Oh, sorry! I do apologise, sir! Please forgive me".

While the gentleman brushed himself down and adjusted his spectacles, Peter stooped down and pretended to pick up the handkerchief he'd concealed in his hand.

"Oh, sir? Is this yours?" he held it out and the gentleman patted the pocket Peter had managed to sneak it out of. "It must have fallen out, when I ran into you just now. Again, I do apologise for that, sir".

"Well, I-"

Peter folded the handkerchief and made a show of tucking it neatly back into the man's breast pocket.

"There we are, sir. Please excuse me, but it's the least I can do for you, being so awful as to almost run you down. My own terrible fault sir. I really should have looked where I was going. Why, I could have knocked you straight over!"

The gentleman seemed completely disconcerted by Peter's hasty speech and the dusting off Peter was giving his coat.

"Now, that's better, sir. I'll be leaving you in peace now. Good day, sir".

And with a nod of his head, Peter dodged around the man and started briskly away. The gentleman straightened himself up, coughed into his hand, then felt for his pocket watch, which was suddenly not there.

"Constable!" he roared.

Peter ran for it, but luck was not on his side, as he turned the corner and ran right into the approaching constable's waiting arms. He struggled and fought but the sergeant held on tight.

"Excuse me, constable, I think you dropped this?"

Both Peter and the constable turned at this new voice. A man was straightening up from the ground and as he raised his head he also raised his fist. It connected with the constable's jaw and sent the man sprawling backward.

"Get those men!" shouted the gentlemen whom Peter had robbed. He had raced up the street and would reach them in a moment.

"Quick!", hissed Peter's saviour.

He grabbed the boy by the shoulder and yanked him away. They ran until they were out of sight and then dodged down a back alley, only stopping when the shouts of the law had faded out of earshot. Then they both collapsed against the rough brick wall, breathing heavily.

"Thank… you…" Peter panted.

The stranger removed his shabby bowler hat and brushed his long hair out of his eyes. It was tied in a ponytail, but several wild strands still covered his face.

"Don't mention it", he said.

Peter was reluctant to agree, instead he scoured the man suspiciously. "Why did you do it?" he asked.

The man grinned and instantly Peter's view of him changed. He knew that he was going to like him. His grin showed mischief and daring, such a rare thing to see on a grown up's face. It was cocky and confident, and Peter hoped when he grew up he'd still be able to grin like that.

"I saw your performance, back there in the street. I couldn't let such a wonderful thespian get caught after a show like that", the stranger explained.

Peter grinned back and while the man replaced his hat, he looked him up and down. He wore his hat back on his head, seemingly ignoring the blonde strands that continued to fall into his eyes. His clothes were posh, but well worn, obviously he wasn't as rich as he'd once been. The evidence of his fall from grace though, was in the earring he sported; a small gold hook, curving halfway around in his left ear.

"Well", the stranger said. "Until we meet again".

"Yeah. Thanks".

He tipped his hat and smiled crookedly, giving Peter a wink. "Take care, boy".

Peter wished he'd stay. He longed to reach out and pull him back, ask him who he really was, what he did, where he was from. But the man had already saved his life. Peter couldn't really ask anything more from him.

Peter lived in the abandoned warehouses fifteen minutes away from the theatre. It was a place no one went to, except those who had escaped the workhouse or prison. Peter had managed to claim himself a room on the second floor. It wasn't very big, but it was long enough for him to stretch out on his blanket bed and not feel the walls either side of him. The floor below him was occupied by an older man named Bill Jukes who Peter, on first meeting, had suspicions might be Father Christmas, and the floor above was the residence of an old witch Peter and the elder man liked to call the Beldam.

On that night, the November wind began to blow a winter chill into London's streets. Peter tucked the collar of his coat up around his neck and ducked his shoulders to fight off the worst of the cold. His roommate was outside, standing with some men from the next building around a small fire they'd started.

"They'll probably lynch us for this", the Bill Jukes said to Peter, gesturing to the flames. "But I'd rather spend Christmas in the clink then freeze to death in this rotten place", he looked the boy up and down. "You off again?"

Peter nodded.

"Why don't you stay here and warm yourself? Take the night off".

"Can't", Peter shivered. "But thanks anyway".

The old man frowned but let it go. "You look after yourself, lad".

"You too, Mr Jukes".

He shook his bushy beard at the boy and Peter smiled before waving him off. Peter often thought it a shame the the old man hadn't been employed at his orphanage. It might have been enough to make him stay with someone like him there. The men who did work there were cruel, greedy people and Peter had been beaten by them on many occasions. The women were not much better either. They all but starved their wards and never raised so much as a hand of comfort.

Peter curled his hands into fists and pulled them further into his sleeves. You know times are bad when freezing on the streets is more appealing then going back to an orphanage, he thought.

Mr Barrie's theatre was brightly lit when Peter approached. Several people crowded outside, enjoying a cigarette or two before the beginning of the performance. A hansom cab rolled into the street, and a stout group of ladies emerged, huddling close together and discussing the play loudly.

"I hear Ariel really flies!" one of them chirped.

"Oh, can you imagine?" another cooed.

Peter breathed in the cold air. He knew the theatre often involved stunts, like sword fighting, but to _fly_? Could it be true?

A figure suddenly brushed past and Peter shuffled backwards, not used to being noticed in the dark. He was more surprised to find that it was a boy, smaller and younger then Peter, but every bit as thin and scruffy. He watched the little waif burrow through the gathering theatre arrivals until he was joined by another two boys that looked Peter's age. They were carrying a large, heavy looking, package between them and the little boy had his own armful of brown paper parcels, tied together with string. The three of them glanced around each other, trying to see if they were being watched, then slunk quickly out of sight towards the theatre.

Peter was not the only pick pocket in London, and he was by no means the youngest. He'd seen children group together to scavenge for savings. Sometimes they were family, sometimes they were just friends. While in the orphanage, there had been two boys who detested each other, but being the oldest they'd worked together to bully the other children. This trio might be no different, but wether they were working tonight or not, they intrigued Peter. Perhaps they were trying to sneak into the theatre?

Glancing one last time at the smoking gentlemen in their gold wrist cuffs and silver handled canes, Peter darted past them and followed the shadows the boys had disappeared into. The trio had made for the back of the building and the thin stairwell that led to the stage door. Peter watched them enter and then snuck after them. He was so excited at the prospect of seeing the show, he might have followed them right out of London.

He had never been inside the theatre, and was surprised by how shabby it looked. The red walls were peeling in places and the carpet was scuffed so badly it looked like rats tails. But it was warm, and the gaslights gave off a gentle glow, chasing away the November wind. At the end of the corridor, the boys were slinking through a door on the right and Peter followed close on their heels.

Voices blasted into his ears the moment he opened the door and he was tempted to run, but he poked his head a little way in and saw something that made his jaw drop. The stage. He was so close to it he was practically on it. But he was only on one side of it, in the wings. A big heavy curtain closed the view into the auditorium and darkened the backstage until those standing in the wings were almost in darkness.

"Will somebody get some lights on here? I can't see what I'm doing!" an angry voice bellowed.

Coloured lights filled the space, turning the world into an assortment of jewels. Peter saw the man who had spoken standing close to his side. He had several pins sticking out of his mouth and was trying to fasten a royally dressed man into his costume. Around him were a flurry of other people. Ballerinas were warming up in the corner, a man in a robe was getting his fake beard powdered so it looked more white and a woman with a pinched-face was trying to make herself look younger with the help of face paints.

In the far corner, the trio of boys were at work with another lad, rigging up some ropes that hung from the ceiling and ran right the way across the stage. A brute of a man lifted up the parcel the boys had carried in and heaved it onto his shoulder, carrying it away. Peter ground his teeth at his idiocy. The boys hadn't been sneaking in to see a show. They _worked_ there. A woman approached them and started gesturing to the ropes above their heads, giving them instructions of what to do.

Peter watched all this from his position inside the doorway, until he was ruffly yanked inside by a towering barbarian dressed in animal skins.

"What are you doing here?" he rumbled.

Peter froze at the sight of him. His face was dark and patchy and long red scars covered his bare arms and chest.

"Shouldn't you be helping someone?" he boomed.

He hooked one hand into Peter's collar and dragged him across the stage to where a heavy set man was sitting with a satin cape draped over his knees. He was whistling through his teeth as he stitched up a hole in the back.

"Hey, Smee!" the savage holding Peter called. "Here's one of your boys".

So saying, he brought Peter to a halt in front of the seamster. The man observed Peter from above the rim of his little owl glasses and frowned.

"He's not one of my boys", he said.

Peter was ready to make a break for it. To run as fast as he could back to Bill Jukes and his room in the old warehouse. But before anyone could move or speak, an earsplitting scream erupted from the middle of the stage and everyone turned to look at the figure hanging from the rigging above the lights.

"She's stuck on the rigging!" someone shouted.

One of the boys Peter had followed in, elbowed his way forward and stared in horror at the girl dangling above them. "Her flying rope snapped!" he said.

"Someone help me! Please!" the girl cried.

"Get some fabric, something to catch her in", yelled the barbarian next to Peter.

Mr Smee jumped up from his chair and darted away to his costume cupboard. Some people tried to call encouraging words to the girl, others panicked and ran about, trying to find some way to help. And still, the girl dangled by her hands from the snapped flying rope.

Peter eyed the pulley system of ropes against the wall. Tugging on one of them, he saw that it's counter weight was on the other side of the stage, making it taught to pull on. Spitting on his hands, Peter leapt up and clung to the coarse rope, scaling hand over hand and pushing his feet against the wall to quicken his pace. Climbing until he was higher then the actors' heads.

"What's he doing?" yelled the savage, finally spotting Peter's stunt.

"Calm down, Starkey", said Smee, who had just returned with an armful of blue cotton. "I think the boy's onto something".

Peter climbed further up the rope, encouraged now by the motivation Smee was calling out to him. He reached the top and paused to look about. The rope he was on went the length of the stage and in the middle it ran right over the lighting bridge; a wooden walkway that dangled precariously from chains hooked to the ceiling. Peter wrapped his legs around the rope and shimmied upside down along it, heading for the bridge.

"Go on, lad!" Smee called from below. "That's the ticket!"

It had been a long time since anyone had cheered for Peter over anything, (except when Bill Jukes had cheered him on during the worm eating contest last spring, and that hadn't amounted to much more then a sick stomach). Now he was being encouraged for something worthwhile and he felt himself getting daring. Pausing his journey, he titled his head back to look at his audience.

Smee's face swam dizzyingly and for a moment Peter felt his fingers loosen. He was higher then he'd thought. From here, Starkey didn't look so much like a barbarian as he did an ant. Turing his head back to the ceiling Peter swallowed and forced his hands to tighten their grip, even though they were sweaty with fear. But he didn't get afraid. He was Peter. He'd survived the orphanage and the streets of London, all on his own. I'm not about to give up now, he thought.

Shuffling along the rope, he forced himself to keep moving until he was stretched out over the lighting bridge. Clinging on with two hands, he swung his legs down and dropped onto the walkway. It swung dangerously from his sudden weight and caused a loud gasp from everyone on the stage. Righting himself - and discreetly wiping his hands on his trousers - Peter turned to the girl who hung nearby on the frayed flying rope.

She was staring at him as though she'd never seen anyone like him before. Peter gripped the railing of the walkway with one hand and stretched out his other towards her.

"Can you reach my hand?" he asked.

She shook her head firmly, her dark hair bouncing with the movement. "I cannot let go of the ropes".

Peter leaned further over the railing, arching his fingers as close to her as he could go.

"Now?"

"I cannot let go!" she insisted.

Peter frowned. She was going to have to let go, one way or the other. If her fingers didn't give out before too long, the rope would. Eying the chains that held the bridge up, Peter began to rock backwards and forwards, causing the platform to move gently with him.

"What are you doing boy? Are you crazy?" Starkey yelled.

Peter swung the bridge until it rocked like a swing, sailing closer and closer to the girl.

"When I tell you to", Peter instructed her. "You're going to grab my hands and jump onto the bridge".

"I-"

"You have to", Peter ordered. "Trust me".

A mist had come into the girl's eyes and she blinked to clear them, then nodded slowly. Peter continued to let the bridge swing and the chains supporting it groaned theatrically. Down on the stage, everyone was biting their lips, holding their breaths and chewing their finger nails.

"Ready?" Peter called. "Now!"

He thrust out his hand and the girl released the ropes she'd clung to so dearly, grabbing Peter's hands instead. In the space of a heartbeat, the bridge swung back so far it was in danger of tipping Peter out and killing them both. Then Peter pulled on the girl's arms and heaved her onto the platform, where they both collapsed in a heap, clinging to the railings and each other.

"Hooray!" came the cheer from below.

Smee tossed his hat in the air and everyone applauded.

Peter lay still, not even hearing their praise. His heart was thumping wildly, threatening to break out of his rib cage. One of the stage hands fetched a ladder and secured it against the walkway, allowing first the girl and then Peter to climb down. As soon as his feet had touched the ground, the girl flung her arms around his neck and hugged him hard.

"You saved me!" she cried. "Thank you!"

"Uh", Peter patted her back awkwardly. "Don't mention it".

Seeing his embarrassment, she released him and smiled instead.

"What is your name?"

"Peter".

"I am Lily", she said.

Her accent was thick, and she spoke as though she found it hard to pronounce certain words.

"Lily? Lily! Are you alright?" a man appeared out of the crowd and wrapped the girl in a huge bear hug. "Oh! My sweet little girl! You are alright".

Peter eyed the pair. They were both tanned, with dark hair. Not like Starkey though, these two had the distinct appearance of people from another land.

Maybe they're Indians, thought Peter.

"That was quick thinking, lad", Mr Barrie said.

Peter raised his head an inch, surprised with the praise. He had been hauled into the Manager's office by two stage hands, certain he was going to get a flea in his ear and a clap around the head. Mr Barrie, instead, smiled encouragingly at Peter.

"Where do you live, boy?"

Peter shifted uncomfortably. "Just… a place… not far from here".

Mr Barrie nodded understandingly. "Do you work?"

Did thieving count as a profession? "Not really".

"Then how would you like to work here?"

Peter stared at him, wondering if it was some kind of cruel joke.

"Would you like that?" Barrie asked.

"Y-yes… yes, sir".

"Good!" Barrie beamed. "You can be a stage runner".

"What's that, sir?"

"A stage runner is someone who has their hand in everything. One night you might be the one to call people to stage, another night you'll assist the prop manager, sometimes you might be asked to fix costumes. Can you sew, lad?"

Peter shook his head.

"Well, no bother! Neither can most of the other boys, except Tootles. You'll soon pick it up".

Peter still couldn't quite believe he was having this conversation. He looked from his own patched and frayed clothes to Mr Barrie's charming suit. The contrast between the two were amazing.

"Do you really mean it, sir? Can I really have a job?"

"Of course!" Barrie eyed the boy bemusedly. "I'm afraid I can't pay you much. You'll have room and bored with the other lads and get a penny a week if you do a good job".

"I will do, sir!"

Barrie laughed. "Good man! Good man!"

He skirted his desk and clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder. Then led him out into the corridor near the stage, checking his watch as he went.

"The show is due to start at any moment and I'm afraid I have another interview to deal with", spotting a figure at the end of the passage he called out to him. "Slightly! Come here".

Peter recognised the boy as being one of the trio he'd followed earlier.

"Slightly, this is Peter", Mr Barrie introduced. "He's going to be joining you boys. Do me a favour and show him around", he winked at Peter. "I'd say 'show you the ropes', but I think you've already seen far too much of them!"

Peter grinned and Barrie waved the duo off. He had a feeling Peter would fit in beautifully with the Lost Boys. He just hoped _they_ would be happy with the new addition to their gang.

Clicking his pocket watch open again, he muttered under his breath at the lateness of the hour and set off to meet his next client. And hopefully, the theatre's new prompt.

"So, what's it like?" Peter asked.

Slightly eyed him warily. "What's what like?"

"What's it like to work in the theatre?"

Slightly shrugged. "It's okay, I suppose".

Peter's forehead creased and he gave his companion a once over. The boy was his height and looked about his age. But that was where the similarities ended. Slightly was pinch-faced with a mop of blonde curly hair and he walked with a slight hunch, as though he was trying to fold himself inwards. He was also scowling, so hard Peter would have had to be blind not to see it.

"I suppose you get to see all the shows?" Peter said, in an attempt at conversation.

"Not if you're helping out backstage, you don't. Which I assume you will be, now that you're working here".

Peter frowned. "What do _you_ do here?"

"I'm a stage runner, same as you. But mostly I'm in the props room".

"Do you make props?"

It was the right thing to ask. Slightly's mouth quirked and he smiled to himself, as though he couldn't help it.

"Yeah", he mumbled.

They had reached the stairs and descended into the basement. It was quite a large room, but taken up by large pieces of scenery and props. Scattered in amongst them, were three wrought iron beds, each of which currently held a boy. The smallest, Peter recognised as the little lad he'd initially followed into the theatre. He sat next to a tall figure in a flat cap, who looked the oldest of the group. Across from their bed, was a dark, heavyset boy wearing a grin on his round face.

All four of them looked up intriguingly as Peter and Slightly descended.

"We've got a new recruit, lads", Slightly told them. "Mr Barrie hired him as a stage runner".

"You're the one who climbed the rigging, aren't you?" asked the tall boy. "The one who saved Lily?"

Slightly hunched further over and shuffled away to sit beside the dark boy. Peter nodded humbly. The tall boy grinned widely and got to his feet, holding out his hand to Peter.

"Names Nibs", he said. "Glad to be working with you!"

Peter shook his hand enthusiastically. A clatter of feet turned everyone's attention back to the stairs where another boy was descending, almost falling over himself in his haste to get down.

"Where's the fire, Twins?" Nibs asked.

The boy looked in a frightful state, his shirt askew and his cap dangling off the side of his head.

"Lily's getting ready to fly. They want Peter standing by, just in case", he said.

"Me?" Peter piped.

"See that?" Nibs laughed. "You're famous already!"

"Come on! Come on!" Twins banged his feet on the stairs and the whole room jumped to action, ushering Peter upwards.

Together, the boys hurtled along the corridor towards the stage, being led by Twins who lost his flat cap in the mad dash and had to let the youngest boy - Curly, Peter heard him get called - pick it up. Smee poked his head out of one of the dressing rooms ahead of them and frowned like thunder.

"If you don't keep the noise down, I'll box each and every one of you about the head, you mark my words I will!" he hissed.

Nibs steered Peter into the wings of the stage, whispering in his ear as he did.

"Smee wouldn't harm a kitten! I've been here three years and he's never once laid a hand on me. We have to pretend to fear him though, otherwise his feelings would be hurt".

Peter pressed his hand over his mouth to cover his laughter. Nibs winked at him and slipped away to another part of the stage.

"'If by your art, my dearest father, you have put the wild waters in this roar…'"

Peter hadn't noticed the stage yet. The man Peter had previously seen powdering his beard was standing on a large pile of rocks, holding a wooden staff high in the air. His robes, brown and dirty, flared out around him and by his feet, hunched a thin girl in a frayed dress.

"'With those that I saw suffer'", she cried. "'A brave vessel dashed all to pieces!'"

And suddenly Peter could see it. He saw the beach the duo stood on. In his mind he could also see the ship they spoke of, flailing in the waters. The wind was howling from the aftermath of the storm and Peter shivered from its cold breeze.

"This way Peter".

Peter blinked and the scene ended. He saw the actors on a stage bare of anything but the wooden rocks the man stood on. There was no wind, nor any sound of the storm he'd thought he heard. Standing at his shoulder, was the dark boy, smiling as though he knew exactly what Peter had just experienced.

"I'm Tootles, by the way", he whispered.

The boy who can sew, thought Peter, thinking back to his conversation with Mr Barrie.

Glancing one last time towards the stage, he followed Tootles to the last wing where Lily was waiting. At first he wasn't sure it was her. Her black hair was fanned out down to her waist and she was swathed in an array of different glittered silk. She looked like fairy from a storybook. Her flying rope had already been attached and she was fidgeting from foot to foot when the boys approached.

"Hello Peter", she whispered.

He couldn't help it. "Who are you?" he asked.

She frowned. "Ariel of course. Who else would wear something like this?" she indicated her shinning dress.

Pursing his lips, Peter prompted: "Is Ariel a fairy?"

Lily smiled, but it was not unkind. "Have you never seen Shakespeare's _The Tempest_? Prospero and his daughter Miranda have been shipwrecked on an island for almost fourteen years", she said, indicating to the pair on stage.

The woman playing Miranda was spouting words so quickly now and in such an awful muddle, Peter found it hard to make out what she was actually trying to say.

"Prospero's a magician", Lily continued. "And he has used his powers to keep the spirit Ariel as his slave".

Across the stage, Peter saw Starkey the Barbarian pacing anxiously in the wing.

"What about him?" Peter asked.

"That's another slave that Prospero has. His name is Caliban and in some scenes he's a monster, and in others I have such pity for him".

From the corner of his eye, Peter could see Lily watching the actors on stage, her eyes dreamy. He wondered if she could see things on the stage the same way he had just done.

"'Know thus far forth'", said Prospero from his position on the rocks. "'By accident most strange, bountiful Fortune…'"

"Lily! It's almost time for you to go on!" hissed a man in an important looking hat.

She fluffed her hair out and licked her lips, suddenly looking very nervous. With one hand, she tested the tension on her harness. Unsure what to do, Peter gave her a nudge with his elbow.

"Good luck", he said.

She stopped flapping about and looked at him, smiling.

"'Approach my Ariel, come!'" shouted Prospero.

Lily raised her arms and the man in the hat pulled on her rope. She flew upwards, almost knocking Peter back she went so fast. The audience in the auditorium gasped as she sailed across the stage, the lights catching her dress and making her glow. Peter could only gape as she twirled around and landed safely by Prospero's feet, dropping into a bow as the audience clapped and cheered.

"All hail, great master! Hail! I come to answer thy best pleasure; be it to fly, to swim, to dive into the fire, to ride on the curled clouds. To thy strong bidding task Ariel and all his quality!" Lily recited.

"Oi!" Smee was stood in the entry way to the stage, trying to get Peter's attention. "Twins stood on Prospero's cape from Act Five and put his foot straight through it. Run up to the costume cupboard and get me the biggest piece of red fabric you can find!"

Peter had no idea, where the costume cupboard was, but it seemed like the best time to find out. He skipped out of the stage and down the corridor, further into the warm theatre. Letting the gaslights carry him forward.

"Good night tonight, lads", said Nibs.

Twins flung himself onto his bed and sighed deeply. "When Caliban's tarp failed to open on stage I was sure Starkey would take it out on us!"

"Me, you mean", said Curly, curling up on his pillow, his eyes already half shut. "I'm always the lynch pin".

"That's because you're so little and sweet, no one can take it upon themselves to get angry with you", Slightly told him.

"I am not sweet!" Curly roared.

Peter hesitated at the foot of the basement stairs. He wasn't sure if Mr Barrie had explained that he would now be living with the boys. They had already assigned themselves beds and were starting to get ready to sleep when Nibs noticed Peter standing alone.

"Sorry, Peter", he said. "I'm afraid you're going to have to share with Tootles".

Tootles looked apologetic. The beds weren't a very large size anyway, but Tootles took up most of the room there was.

"Thanks Toots", Peter said anyway, and the boy grinned.

As the gang continued to chat and squabble amongst themselves, Peter eyed the scenery pieces standing around the room. There were some big canvas boards, painted to look like beaches and forests and towns.

"Do you ever use these?" Peter asked.

Slightly frowned. "Of course. The operatics use them all the time".

"No I mean, do _you_ guys ever use them. While they're not in use up there?"

"What would we use them for?" Twins said.

"Do you want us to put on our own play?" Curly added.

"No. I was just thinking of the games you could play with them. That's all", said Peter.

Slightly snorted. "Games?" he snickered.

Rather then back down on his idea, Peter grabbed the town scenery and dragged it over beside Nibs and Twins' bed.

"Try to use your imagination", he told Slightly, who scowled like thunder.

Grabbing the tartan blanket off Tootles bed, Peter wrapped it around himself like a cloak and and paced on top of the bed, before the scenery.

"Once there was a town: peaceful, quiet… no!" grabbing a broken broom, Peter held it out like a sword. "It was overrun by vicious pirates! Cutthroats, who took out any who stood in their way".

The Lost Boys looked at Peter as though he'd gone mad. Then suddenly, Nibs eyes lit up and he jumped to his feet.

"Pirates! Like Cecco, who carved his name into his gaoler's back after he was sentenced to hang", he stood on Tootles bed and acted it out with an old prop cane.

"Or Noodler!" yelled Curly, joining Peter in front of the town scenery. "Had his hands cut off during a duel, and they were sewn on backwards!"

"Alf Mason", said Tootles, stumbling onto his bed and wobbling there. "A pirate so ugly his own mother sold him for a bottle of muscat!"

"Who can I be?" asked Twins, still seated beside Slightly.

"Little Richard", Peter suggested. "A giant of a man. Ten feet tall!"

Twins looked thrilled by this suggestion. Nibs and Tootles grabbed another scenery canvas, this one depicting a stormy sea, and dragged it up to Tootles bed.

"En guarde", Nibs yelled to Peter and the two began to duel across the beds, one using a cane, the other a broom.

"Go on Nibs!" Twins called.

"Get him Peter!" Curly shouted.

"Hey!" the boys halted in their tracks and turned to face Slightly. He had thrown a black feathered hat onto his head, it had a hole in one side, and had obviously been discarded from Smee's prop cupboard because of it. In his hand, he held a long wooden rod. "Aren't you forgetting someone?" at the boys' blank looks, he explained. "Edward. Teynte. Ed Teynte was the meanest, nastiest, most cold blooded pirate the world's ever seen", he pointed his stick at Curly. "It was he that cut off Noodler's hands. And it was him that handed Cecco over to the authorities".

"But there's one thing Teynte never saw coming", Peter said, trying to keep the grin off his face.

"What?" Slightly asked.

"Me!" Peter cried, and attacked with his broom.

The boys duelled, all against all, hopping from bed to bed to floor. Sometimes one of them would die dramatically and the others all had to applaud, until they jumped back up and announced 'only joking!'. It was a long while later when they all finally collapsed, exhausted.

Peter rolled over in bed and landed with a thud on the floor.

"Sorry, Peter", came Tootles' hushed whisper.

"Don't worry about it Toots, I always roll out of bed in the night", Peter lied.

He squeezed himself back in beside his large new friend and tucked his blanket around him, like a cocoon to try and prevent himself falling out again.

"You know something, Peter?" Tootles whispered. "We've never played anything like that game you taught us tonight before".

Peter found it hard in his sleepy state to decipher that. "You mean you never imagined anything".

"_I_ have. But we've never played at it. You even convinced Slightly to play!"

"Why did Slightly not like me at first?" Peter asked.

He was confident the other boys were asleep, judging by a the loud array of snores in the room.

"It was because you saved Lily. Slightly was the one who attached her rope, see. He was just upset because of what he'd done".

They were both silent for a long while before Tootles smiled broadly at Peter, his eyes shining.

"Things are going to change with you here", he grinned. "I can tell".

Mr Barrie led the blonde gentleman into the empty auditorium. The gaslights had already been lit, per his request and it gave the theatre a warm, homely feel.

"It seats almost a thousand", Barrie said.

"And is it usually a full house?"

"Usually, yes".

The gentleman ran his fingers over the base of the stage. Almost lovingly, Barrie thought. He moved about the space slowly, taking his time exploring it, or so it seemed. His eyes told a different tale. They roved constantly about the room, drinking in one thing and quickly moving to the next.

"You know, I can't tell you how excited I am to have you here", Barrie beamed. "My actors are phenomenal people, but even the best can leave room for improvements".

"I should hope so", the man replied.

Above the auditorium, the door into the lower dress circle opened and Peter's small figure slipped through. Hearing Mr Barrie's voice, he closed the door with extreme care, careful not to make a sound, and tiptoed down the aisle until he reached the balcony rail. He crouched before it and poked his nose over the top, curious to see who Mr Barrie's guest was.

"You've come at the perfect time too", Barrie was saying. "We've just begun rehearsals for _Romeo and Juliet_. It would be nice to have a really dramatic sword fight between the Montague's and the Capulet's", he leaned back against the stage, watching his companion's examination of the theatre. "And knowing your skills might help me in writing my own play. At least now I know there can be some good duels in it".

"Ah yes, I heard rumours you're still writing. How's the new piece coming?"

Barrie shrugged. "I've still not found the perfect inspiration to start it".

Peter leaned further over the balcony, trying to get a better look at the blonde man. It was hard to see him properly from up high, and his face was covered by a shabby black bowler hat. Yet something about the blonde strands that poked out from it were startlingly familiar to him.

Lifting his head, the gentleman studied the gold rimmed boxes, which were always reserved for the wealthiest families. He looked at the muriel painted on the the ceiling, showing winged cherubim flying about in a cloudy sky. He turned on the spot to take in the engravings on the rim of the dress circle - and spotted the young boy peeking over the top of it. Barrie, seeing where the man's attention was focused, followed his gaze.

"Oh! Peter, what are you doing up there?"

Peter swallowed, not expecting to be spotted.

"Um, Mr Smee's gone down to the Black Swan for a drink with Gentleman Starkey. So I just thought I'd…"

"You thought you'd familiarise yourself with the theatre?" Barrie laughed and turned to his companion. "Peter is the newest member of our family, he's only been here two weeks. Peter, this is our new prompt and fencing master. In fact, I was supposed to show him around the theatre, but I'm quite behind in my work and I have some very urgent letters to send. Perhaps you wouldn't mind showing him around for me?"

Peter nodded mutely. Mr Barrie shook hands with the gentleman and bid both of them a good day. Peter could barely bring himself to reply. No wonder the blonde man had looked so familiar, he was the same man who had saved Peter from getting nicked the morning he came to the theatre. The one with the gold hooked earring.

"So, you became a real thespian after all?" the man said. "Decided to put your talent into practice?"

"I'm just a stage runner", Peter said.

He didn't like the idea of this man knowing he'd once been a pick pocket. No one had asked Peter how he got by before he came to the theatre, and he wasn't too keen for any of them to know.

"I'll come down and show you around", Peter said.

And maybe lock you in one of the cupboards while I'm at it, he thought.

"Don't bother, I'll come up", the gentleman replied.

He disappeared and a few minutes later was kneeling by Peter's side over the railing. Peter was surprised, usually grown ups never knelt or crouched, unless it was to pick up something they'd dropped.

"So, it looks like we were destined to meet again".

Peter narrowed his eyes at him, unsure what the man was playing at.

"How did you get involved here?" he demanded.

"The day we met, I was due to have a meeting with Mr Barrie. He was hoping only to hire me as prompt, but when he found out how handy I was with the blade he also asked me to teach the actors".

"You mean, you can fight with real swords?" Peter asked.

"I can teach you, if you'd like".

"Really? You would?"

He grinned and Peter remembered why he'd initially liked him.

"However, if we're to be friends I think we should be introduced".

"I'm Peter".

They shook hands formally and he smiled. "My name's Jimmy. Jimmy Hook".

Peter was sweeping the dress circle that evening when Jimmy came looking for him. The show was due to start in less then an hour and Peter had been told to make sure everything was clean for the higher classes.

"You're to assist me tonight", Jimmy told him. "Seeing as I don't know all the actors names, you're to tell me who they are if I get stuck".

"Okay, I'm almost done here anyway", Peter said, grinning.

They were both silent for a moment, before Jimmy said: "She's quite something isn't she".

Peter looked around, expecting to find the lead actress Maggie, or perhaps Lily on the stage. But the theatre was empty, except for him and Jimmy. Then he realised it was the theatre Jimmy was talking about.

"Yeah", Peter agreed. Then after a pause: "It's amazing".

Jimmy looked at him curiously. "Had you ever been to the theatre before you came here?"

"Never", Peter shook his head. "It's incredible. I mean, it's like never growing up, isn't it?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, the whole thing about being a child, is that you can play around and imagine things that aren't real. You know, make believe. But that's what this is, isn't it? You're trying to make the audience believe that _you_ believe Lily's an air spirit, or Starkey's a deformed monster. It's children's games, but you don't have to be a child to play them".

"I've never thought about it that way before", Jimmy said.

Peter looked over the stage, imagining how it would look tonight, when the lights were lit and the floor was dominated by the actors in costume.

"We should give it a name", he said suddenly.

"The theatre?"

"Yeah. It deserves something special".

"Everyone knows it as Mr Barrie's theatre, they don't even tend to call it by its proper name".

"I know, but this would be a name only we in the theatre would know about. A secret name".

Jimmy seated himself in one of the plush red chairs and smiled intriguingly at the boy. "What do you suggest?"

Peter thought about it. "Neverland. Because you never have to grow up".

"Is that what you want Peter?" he raised his eyebrows. "To always stay a boy and have fun?"

"That's what you're doing isn't it?"

Jimmy laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. "Very well, Neverland it is. Now come on, if you want to get some fencing practice in before the curtain rises we'd better get going".

Peter collected his broom and with Jimmy's arm around his shoulder the duo followed each other out. Leaving the theatre empty.

**[End Of Part One**


	2. Part Two

**A/N:** Yay! Part Two! Before I talk about part three, I'd just like to say thank you to those who reviewed and added this story to your favourites list. Really means so much to me :) Now, Part Three is underway and shaping up nicely. However, with Christmas coming up everything is mad busy, so I'm planning to work on it and finish it during the Christmas break. It just means it will be a few weeks in coming :( For now though, PART TWO!

_*Merry Christmas everyone! God Bless for the new year!*_

**PART TWO:**

_Peter and Wendy_

Wendy Darling loved going to the theatre. It was the most magical place in the world to her. Her brothers loved it to, but not in the way she did. They loved only what played out on the stage, whereas Wendy loved the anticipation that built up in the carriage ride there, she loved to watch the other people in the stalls and dress circle before the curtain rose, and after the curtain fell she loved to wonder what the actors were doing now. She imagined them taking off their costumes and shedding their characters, doing away with their disguises until the next performance.

That night was no different. While her Father took charge of readying her brothers in the nursery, Wendy watched her Mother dress in her parents bedroom. Mrs Darling knew her daughter liked to see her prepare herself for an evening out. And indeed, Wendy was always fascinated by her Mother's preparations for a party or social event. That night, she wore a creamy white evening gown, a necklace her husband had given her and a bracelet Wendy had loaned her. It was a tradition when they went to the theatre together for them to swap an item of jewellery.

"If you've picked out your dress", Mrs Darling said, as she powdered her nose before her vanity mirror. "Why don't you put it on and I can help you with your hair?"

Wendy obediently donned her favourite rose colored dress and stood patiently while her Mother finished her own preparations. Mrs Darling was the most beautiful woman in london society, and although Wendy did not know it, she was fast on her way to becoming like her. She had her face and figure, and had already begun to look at the world in her Mother's kind and loving way.

"Now", said Mrs Darling, sitting Wendy down and picking up her hairbrush. She pulled her jewellery box closer and opened the lid so Wendy could peer inside. "What shall you wear tonight?"

Wendy examined each piece carefully while her Mother brushed her hair, but she could not make a decision.

"I know", said her Mother.

She lifted out a cameo pin that George Darling had given her after they were married and gently pinned it to Wendy's collar.

"It's just the thing for a young woman to wear", she told her.

The evening that followed might have gone very differently had it had not been for that small remark. Never before had Wendy been referred to as a _woman_ and it frightened her terribly. As soon as her Mother left the room to see to Wendy's brothers, the girl jumped to her feet and pressed her face to the vanity mirror. She checked herself for any sign of her childhood slipping away, for some indication that she was no longer a _girl_, but a _woman_.

The face that stared back at her was the same one she'd seen that morning, and everyday before.

But Wendy couldn't forget her Mother's, such offhand, comment. She waited impatiently until her parents were satisfied with her brothers dress and had left to call a cab, then ran to the nursery. Her brothers were were kneeling either end of Michael's bed, pulling faces at each.

"John! Michael!" she yelled, as she grabbed them both and hauled them upright.

"Ouch! Leave off, Wendy", John complained.

"Tell me: do I look older to you?" she demanded.

Both boys stared at her uncomprehendingly.

"Do you want to look older, Wendy?" Michael asked.

"No!"

"Wendy, you're hurting us", John said, finally managing to pry his older sister's fingers away from his shoulder.

Wendy shrunk away from them and sank down onto her bed. It was not her normal behaviour to act like this, and John knew it more then Michael. He folded his arms over his chest, copying their father's 'explain yourself' position.

"What's this all about?" he asked.

But Wendy only shook her head. "Nothing. Never mind".

She didn't mention it again. Not to anyone. But she thought about it during the whole carriage ride to the theatre.

George Darling helped his wife and daughter down from the hansom cab and led the way into Mr Barrie's theatre. A good crowd had gathered in the foyer and Mr Darling realised they'd have to push their way through if they were to be first in.

"Excuse me? Excuse me?" he began, timidly nudging shoulders in an attempt to clear a path for Mrs Darling.

Wendy watched their slow excursion from the back of the family line. Maybe it was because everyone seemed to be moving at a glacial pace, or because her mind was not completely focused on the world around her, that she spotted the boy who ducked and dodged through the gathered ensemble. He was about her age, with a scruffy mop of brown hair and he weaved his way through the gentry like a snake through the underbrush.

He crossed behind her and tapped the elbow of the doorman, whispering something urgently in his ear. The door man looked shocked and shook his head at the boy, who in turn looked put out.

"Wendy?" Mr Darling was at her side, showing her how the doors to the dress circle had opened and how everyone was now crowding to get inside them.

Wendy glanced back at the boy and at the same moment he turned to look at her.

"Wendy? Come along, before we loose our seats".

She allowed her father to take her arm and lead her away to the dress circle. But she was sure the boy was still watching her as they left.

Jimmy was pacing in the wings when Peter found him.

"Well?" he asked.

"Cookson hasn't seen him".

Jimmy cursed and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. Peter had asked their doorman to escort Hank to the stage himself, if the actor ever bothered to show up. He'd been late to rehearsals three times in the past month and Peter had told Jimmy to get someone else. But it was Mr Barrie's decision to keep the man on as Pan, the flying fairy, in the theatre's latest play _Circus Night_.

"What'll we do if he doesn't turn up?" Peter asked Jimmy.

"Why ask me? It's Barrie who hired that drunken scoundrel", Jimmy sighed deeply and pulled Peter closer, ruffling his hair. "Sorry, Peter. I'm not really angry with you", he looked out at the closed curtains and twisted his lips. "But the curtain's due to rise in ten minutes and we're currently without one of our main stars".

That was the moment Mr Barrie thundered into the wings. His eyes were wide and his glasses trembled on his small, bony nose.

"Has he still not arrived?" he asked.

Both Peter and Jimmy shook their heads. Mr Barrie pulled his mouth into a tight, thin line and looked at the floor for a long time before speaking.

"Well then, we need someone to take his place", he said.

"Who? He has no understudy", Jimmy pointed out.

Peter knew this to be a jab at the theatre owner, as he only ever hired understudies for the main part in a play, and then the understudy would double as an ensemble cast member, just to make sure he wasn't being paid for nothing.

Mr Barrie, however, ignored the jab. "Who knows his lines?" he asked.

"Peter does".

The trio turned to see Lily standing in the doorway to the stage. She was already in costume, wearing the white dress her character demanded.

"I saw him helping Gentleman Starkey with his lines last week. Peter was practically off script", she said.

Barrie grabbed Peter by the shoulders and bent down till they were eye to eye. "Can you be off script in ten minutes, Peter?".

"He can if I help him", Lily said.

"Good girl! Good boy! Good all round!" and he clapped his hands together, rubbing them energetically.

"There's more to it then just lines", Jimmy said angrily, tucking his prompt's script under his arm. "Do you know the movements Peter? Have you learned the stage directions?"

"I-I think so-"

"Good lad! Off you go then, get changed quickly!" Mr Barrie ushered him over to Lily and all but pushed the two of them out of the door. "There", he said, turning back to the stoney faced Jimmy. "Problem solved".

"You remember the fight sequence?" Jimmy hissed in the darkness of the wings.

Peter nodded mutely. Sword play was no problem, Jimmy was an ex-military man and had taught him well. Right now it was his lines that were giving him trouble, he couldn't remember his first sentence.

"'Come with me, child'", Starkey recited from the stage.

He was dressed as the ringmaster of the circus and was circling the lead actress Maggie, (who had been painted up to look like a girl half her age), enticing her to run away and join his troupe of mythical creatures in their shows.

"Hey! That's my costume!"

Peter turned his head in time to see Hank Fitzburg, Puck's original actor, stumble into the wings.

"Get out of my costume!" he said, much to loudly.

Jimmy leapt across Peter and pushed the man back, shushing him furiously.

"Here, what's going on? Don't you push me! This is an outrage! That boy can't have my part! I ought to-"

The rest of Hank's sentence was abruptly cut off as Jimmy lost his calm and knocked the drunk back with a blow to the face. A stage hand caught the dazed Hank under the armpits and hauled him out, dragging him away.

"'Let me show you what you would be missing out on, if you refuse'", said Starkey and he clicked his fingers.

"Peter! That's your cue!" Jimmy hissed.

He had barely looked back towards the stage when the rope tied to his costume was yanked upwards and his feet left the ground with a whoosh. He had never flown on the ropes before. He soared across the stage feeling detached from the earth. It was exhilarating to fly like that. To hear the gasp of the audience and see the ground far below. In the light of the stage, the theatre seemed to be transformed.

Neverland, Peter thought, this is what you _really_ look like.

Wendy watched the curtain rise with trepidation. Since she'd taken her seat she had not been able to stop toying with the brooch her Mother had leant her. The gaslights went down and the audience around her sat forward, eager to see the performance. Wendy was the only one who hunched in her seat.

The tenor entered the stage and sang the prologue, informing everyone of what was to come in the show. Wendy had always thought prologues rather dull. They only gave away the story, so that hardly anything that happened came as a surprise. Except 'once upon a time', that was a rather good prologue…

"Wendy!" John hissed.

She jerked upwards, realising she hadn't taken in a word of what was happening on stage. Her Mother looked down the row at her anxiously and Wendy smiled in what she hoped a pleasant manner.

_Circus Night_ focused around a young girl forced by her elders into the engagement of a man she does not love. When the circus comes to town, she becomes transfixed by its ringmaster, who offers her a position in their company, as anyone who joins receives magical powers and the ability to fly. The girl sat in the centre of the stage and the ringmaster paced leisurely around her, telling her of the great wonders she'd receive if she joined them.

That's when the boy appeared. He flew, quite literally, onto the stage, gliding gently so that his bare feet touched down in front of the ringmaster with the greatest of ease. Wendy gasped, causing both her brothers to look at her. The boy was the same one she'd seen in the foyer. But now he was clad in skeleton leaves and his hair was wild with tangled with streaks of silver glitter.

"'Who is this?'" he asked, indicating the girl's awestruck form. "'A maiden in distress?'"

It was like being struck with a sewing pin. Wendy stayed bolt upright in her seat for the entire scene with the boy. She laughed at his jokes, grinned at his insolent threats towards the ringmaster and finally collapsed back into her seat when he once again flew from the stage.

So it continued throughout the performance. His character was something of a companion for the heroine, although unlike her, he longed to leave the circus and find a new life. Every time he entered a scene, Wendy sat up a little straighter. When he battled the ringmaster in a sword fight, she clutched the arms of her chair tightly, afraid for him. He made his last exit after he bids the heroine goodbye, thanking her for freeing him from his imprisonment and hoping that she can one day rescue herself.

The rest of the play seemed to be lacking without him. The girl was soon to find out that joining the circus came with a price, as everyone who stayed with the ringmaster became enslaved to him. She manages to find her parents and the man she was due to marry who help her destroy the evil ringmaster, (who vanished in a puff of smoke, much to the delight of Wendy's brother's who cheered like mad). Afterwards, the girl stood happily with her parents and told them that she would gladly get married and settle down with whomever they saw fit for her.

"'After all'", the girl said. "'One can't go on living in one's dreams forever. We all must grow up sometime'".

Wendy felt her breath catch and she clutched at her Mother's brooch. The girl's parents agreed with her, each of them rattling off a speech about the importance of learning to accept your fate. Unable to bare it any longer, Wendy jumped up from her seat and pushed her way along the row of people until she'd reached the exit door. But even when she'd shut the sounds from the theatre out, she still couldn't seem to breath properly.

She stumbled away, looking for a powder room where she could compose herself. It would never do for her parents to see her looking the way she did. She took the stairs down to the foyer but suddenly found herself in another corridor, this one far shabbier then the one she'd come from. Her fingers went to her brooch and it fell from her neck, rolling away on the carpet.

"Oh!" she cried, darting forward to catch it.

Before she could reach, it was swiped up and held out gingerly before her.

"Yours?" said a familiar voice.

Wendy straightened up and faced the boy, now plainly dressed.

"You", she said. "You're the one from the play".

Rather then answer, he asked: "Didn't you want to stay and see the end?"

"Of course! I- I just felt suddenly ill and- and didn't want to cause a fuss".

Peter nodded. The girl was evidently not used to lying. She looked a lot less lavish then when he'd seen her in foyer before the show. Her face was very pale and she wasn't carrying herself with the same air of an upmarket offspring. He offered her her brooch again.

"So, you're an actor?" she ventured, accepting the trinket from him.

"Nope. Never been on stage before in my life".

The bridge of her nose creased with disdain. "You're toying with me, aren't you?"

He raised one hand lawfully. "Honest truth".

"So it was your debut?"

Peter shook his head teasingly, he could see it annoyed her.

"Then what were you doing out on that stage?" she asked. "Clowning around?"

"I wasn't clowning!"

She smiled smugly, glad to have won a rise out of him. Peter lowered huffily.

"The actor playing Pan's role never showed up. I had to take his place", he told her. "I had only ten minutes to learn the lines and directions".

Wendy wasn't sure wether to believe him or not, but he looked so proud she couldn't bring herself to confront him over it.

"So if you're not an actor, what do you do here?" she asked instead.

"I'm a stage runner. I do everything that needs doing".

"Where do you live?"

"Here".

Peter saw her eyes widen and he smiled to himself.

"Are you a ward of the theatre?" Wendy had heard of such things in books. At least in the ones her Mother wished she wouldn't read, as they were apparently too advanced for her.

"No! I'm employed by Mr Barrie, along with the other Lost Boys. We six practically run this place".

"I'm sure you do a good job. Though I don't care very much for your latest play. Not that _you_ were bad!" Wendy hastened to add. "You were very good! But the story itself…"

"I don't like it either", Peter admitted. "It's terrible writing. I've told Jimmy so".

"Jimmy?"

"Jimmy Hook, my friend. He's the prompt and fencing master here".

"It must be wonderful. To live in a place like this".

Peter watched her eyeing the corridor around them as though it was a forgotten temple. He made a decision then.

"Do you want to see something?" he asked. "Something spectacular?"

Wendy nodded mutely and Peter took her hand, leading her further down the hall and into a dark room on the left. She could hear the music from the play here. Peter led her on towards the corner, where she could just make out the shadow of a ladder.

"Follow me", he hissed.

It was so dark she found it hard to do as he said, and climbing a ladder in a dress is never an easy task. But somehow she made it to the top rung and Peter helped her to her feet. They were on some kind of a thin walkway. Wendy held the railings either side for safety as Peter started along it.

"Look", he told her, once they'd reached the middle.

Gripping one of the bridge's supporting chains, Wendy peered over the edge and gasped aloud, prompting Peter to cover her mouth with his hand. They were suspended directly over the stage, watching the ballerinas who finished the show to Strauss' music, jump about below them. Wendy looked from them to Peter, who mirrored her grin with his own.

Somewhere out in the audience is my family, thought Wendy, and they don't realise that I'm standing right above where they're looking!

"Well?" Peter whispered.

"It's incredible!"

"You know it has a name".

"The theatre? Of course it does. I know it".

"No", Peter said. "A secret name. One _no one_ outside of the theatre knows", he glanced suspiciously over his shoulder, as though he expected eavesdroppers, and leaned closer to whisper: "Neverland".

"Neverland", Wendy repeated, tasting the name. "Why Neverland?"

"Because you never have to grow up here".

He was so distracted by the ballerinas finish he didn't see the look on Wendy's face. They watched together as the conductor called his orchestra into the finale. The audience clapped and the actors were all called to stage for their bow, starting with the ensemble roles.

"Shouldn't you be down there?" Wendy hissed.

Peter cursed and Wendy had to bite her lip to stop herself spluttering with laughter. Looking around, Peter saw a stray rope, looped around the far end of the walkway. Rushing to grab it, he uncurled it and placed one foot on the railing.

"Wait!" Wendy cried.

But Peter had already jumped. He hurtled downwards, the counterweight stopping him from a broken neck only just before he hit the stage. He landed nimbly in front of the other actors and swept a bow to the audience. He felt more daring, knowing Wendy was watching. A muffled array of curses caught his attention though, and out of the corner of his eye he could see Jimmy glaring daggers at him.

The audience loved his entrance however. They knew him, even though he wasn't in costume. Several of them even rose to their feet to applaud him. Up above, Wendy clapped like mad, unable to stop her laughter now. She waited until the curtain had been lowered and then made her way down the ladder as quickly as she could. The cast swarmed around Peter, congratulating him on his performance and scolding him for his dangerous curtain call. Jimmy caught him about the collar and told him if he ever did anything that reckless again he'd run him through with his sword.

"Looks like we've found you a nickname at last, eh Pan?" said Nibs as he ruffled Peter's hair.

"Yeah, Peter Pan. Got a ring to it, at least", said Slightly, clapping him on the back.

"Peter?" Wendy called timidly.

He'd almost forgotten about Wendy. She was standing outside the circle of practitioners, her hands folded timidly before her. The crowd around him parted and everyone turned silent at the sight of her. In her rose print dress and curled ringlets she stood out as being different. At least among the costumes and shirt sleeves of the theatre staff.

"My family will be looking for me", she said quietly.

"Oh. Right… I'll take you back then", Peter told her.

He pushed through his friends until he'd reached her side and together they left the stage, not untouched by the whispers of who 'the high class dame' might be.

Mary Darling sat at her vanity table and removed her pearl necklace, placing it carefully inside her jewellery box.

"I cannot understand what got into Wendy tonight", she said.

George Darling undid his bow tie and rolled his head around on his shoulders, feeling as though he'd just been released from a neck brace.

"Most peculiar", he agreed.

"She was out of sorts even before we left for the theatre", Mrs Darling recalled. "Ever since I helped her get ready, in fact".

George sat on their bed and removed his patent black shoes. "Did you say anything to her?"

"I don't think so. I- George!" she whipped around so fast it made him jump. "I couldn't have said anything to upset her? Could I?"

"Oh no!" he relented. "No, no! Surely not. No, I'm sure of it".

Mary nodded and turned back to her vanity mirror, still not completely at ease.

"Perhaps she's just coming down with something?" Mr Darling suggested after a moment.

The loud screech and ensuing laughter that echoed from the nursery made both Darling's turn their heads.

"Doesn't sound sick to me", Mary muttered.

"Maybe she thought the show too childish? She is growing up. Good heavens, she's more mature every time I look at her. Maybe we should take her to see something more grown up? We'll get a sitter for the boys and take her out as a special treat. Maybe the two of you could have a girl's night out and I'll watch the boys myself?"

Mrs Darling stroked the bracelet Wendy had loaned her, running her thumb over the silver beads, remembering how it looked on her daughter's pale wrist. "I did hear that Mr Barrie is opening _Romeo and Juliet_ next week", she agreed.

Mr Darling removed his cuff links and paused by his wife's side. "Unless she finds the theatre itself too dull?" he mused.

"She can't do", said Mrs Darling. "She's made me promise to bring her back next week".

Hook raised the point of his blade until it was level with Peter's chest. The boy sucked on his cheeks and eyed the rapier wearily.

"Ready?" Jimmy prompted.

Peter nodded, hoping his trembling wasn't too visible. Jimmy lunged and Peter raised his arm in a lightning movement, parrying the blow. They duelled across the empty stage, the strength of Jimmy's attack pushing Peter backwards until they were almost in the wings. Every blow he reigned down, the young boy blocked until he made a final swipe of his own. Jimmy fended it off and stepped backwards, letting his hand drop.

"You're getting better", he said.

Peter grinned and tossed his blade in the air, catching it deftly. "You've taught me well".

They usually used the rehearsal room upstairs for practising, but most of the actors had left and the theatre's doors had been closed over an hour now. They were just readying for another go, when Mr Barrie wandered in. His hands deep in his pockets and his eyes twinkling.

"I thought I heard noises", he smiled. "Teaching Pan how to better Starkey, Captain?"

Jimmy had never told Peter much about his time in the army. But it was a known fact that before he left he had been a Captain, and Mr Barrie tended to call him thus from time to time.

Peter twirled his blade around his wrist. "It won't be long before I'm better then Jimmy".

Jimmy himself looked bemused. "Yes, I'm sure", he muttered,

Barrie had to hold back his chuckles. "What's all this I hear about you finding yourself a girl, eh Pan?"

Peter scowled, feeling his cheeks go warm. "I was just showing her around. She's the daughter of a Top".

"Which one?" Jimmy asked.

Peter shrugged, bored already with the conversation. Wendy had tried to introduce him to her parents and he'd made up an excuse about having to get back to see Smee. He wasn't interested in meeting stuck up gentry. Although Wendy wasn't that stuck up…

"Well, all I can say is: well done, Peter. You did extraordinarily well tonight", Barrie bowed reverently to the boy. "And well done Captain Hook, for teaching him".

Jimmy nodded sardonically at the theatre owner, who wished the pair a good night before leaving.

"I think that's enough practice for one night", Jimmy said, after he'd left. "Get some sleep. No doubt you'll end up being an actor again tomorrow, unless Hank miraculously sobers himself into- what's this?"

He'd stood on something hard as he crossed the stage and when he lifted his boot he found it was a lady's brooch.

Peter glanced over his shoulder, curiously. "That's Wendy's!"

"Wendy?" Jimmy queried, cupping the trinket in his palm.

"That girl. She dropped it earlier too".

Jimmy looked at him strangely for a moment, a most curious odd in his eyes. Then he passed the bauble over to the boy and turned away.

"You'd better return it to her. Do you know where she lives?"

"Yes, actually", Peter said. Wendy had told him her address after he'd refused to talk to her family. He was surprised he even remembered what it was.

"If you go now, I'll wait up and let you back in", Jimmy told him.

So Peter pocketed the brooch and set off at once. He ran most of the way and only stopped when he reached Wendy's street. He was glad Jimmy hadn't come with him, it would only have sparked off some baiting about having rich friends. For Wendy lived on one of the poshest estates this side of London. Simply walking down the tree lined path made Peter feel shabby, and it was not a feeling he liked.

He found number fourteen easily enough, but was sure he'd be turned away at the front door. Sneaking around the side he glanced up at the house and saw a large window on the second floor was open. The curtains were billowing out of it and from inside there uttered the faint cry of laughter. Perhaps that was her room. Grabbing a handful of ivy, Peter scaled hand over hand up the house's greenery until he could perch comfortably next to the window.

"The prince approached the sleeping maiden, locked for all time in her glass coffin", came a voice from inside.

Leaning closer, Peter peeked around the curtain.

"The seven dwarves framed a circle around her. A cacophony of sadness".

Wendy was standing in her nightdress and robe, her red curls a halo around her face. Sitting crouched behind their beds, were two boys, about Twins and Curly's age. Wendy was facing them as she told her story, stepping ever nearer towards their bewitched forms.

"As the prince parted their group and knelt down, they removed the lid of the coffin, allowing him to bend freely over her full, blood red lips… WHAM!"

Peter was so startled he very nearly fell from the ivy. John and Michael screamed and then went silent, desperate to hear Wendy's explanation.

"Snow White grinned in triumph as she drew her concealed dagger from the prince's chest. 'It was you who poisoned my father all those years ago!' she cried. 'I knew you were working for the evil queen!' And with that, she ran him through, killing him instantly!"

John and Michael cheered and leapt up from their hiding places. John grabbed his wooden sword and held it out to Wendy.

"But the evil queen found out about what Snow White had done", he said. "If poisoned apples and enchanted combs wouldn't work, she knew she'd have to resort to a fight to the death!"

Wendy grabbed her own sword, and pointed it at her brother.

"Alas, Snow White was ready for the queen's attack. En guarde!"

Peter watched the pair fight each other around the room while the youngest boy alternately pretended to be the dwarves cheering for Snow White and the dead prince begging for vengeance. It was certainly not what he'd expected to find when peeking in Wendy's window.

"Take that!" she screeched, driving her sword into John's stomach.

"Ouch! And so… the queen… dies!" and he collapsed onto the floor with his tongue lolling out.

Michael clapped and clamoured for more.

"Yes, tell us another story Wendy", John begged.

Peter too was eager to hear another tale, having missed most of the first one. But he remembered Jimmy who was waiting for him back at the theatre. He couldn't keep him waiting forever. He fished the brooch out from his pocket and slid it onto the windowsill, pushing it further inside so Wendy would be sure to see it.

"Very well. I shall tell you a new story. The story of Peter Pan!"

Peter froze with his hand on the brooch.

"Once upon a time", Wendy began. "There was a boy. A boy named Peter Pan and he lived in a wonderful world called Neverland".

At first, Peter was ardent to get angry. After all, he had specifically told Wendy that Neverland was the theatre's _secret_ name. But he wondered at what kind of a tale she would be telling about him, so he listened keenly.

"Neverland is a place like no other, and Peter Pan is a boy like no other. He can fly! And he flies all over Neverland having adventures. Once, he flew down to the island's lagoon, where the mermaids live. They're very graceful creatures and _very_ fond of Peter. They're greatest wish, is for him to stay with them, to swim in their waters with them for ever and for eternity. But mermaids are slippery creatures and can turn from your friend to your enemy as quick as _that_", Wendy snapped her fingers, making her brothers jump. "Peter is far too smart to fall for their tricks. Once he flew across to the ship where the pirates sail and landed in their crows nest without their knowledge. He played tricks on them for hours before they realised it was him and then he duelled five of them to the death before soaring upwards and flying away. Free as a bird!"

Wendy waved her arms in the air as though she too was flying and spun around the room in a dizzying display.

"Wendy? Where is Neverland?" Michael asked.

Wendy stopped, breathless and sat placidly on the floor, her nightgown folding neatly out around her. "It exists in a place you've been before".

Outside, Peter bristled.

"And perhaps if you go to bed right this instant, you'll see it. In your dreams".

"Really?" both boys asked.

"Indeed. It is a place you can visit all the time in your dreams".

"I'm going to sleep _now_!" Michael cried and he dived head first into his bed.

Wendy laughed as John too climbed languidly into his own bed. The door to their nursery opened and a beautiful lady entered, holding a candle in her hand.

"Well done Wendy", Mrs Darling said. "You've gotten them into their beds already!"

Peter ducked away from Wendy's mother, annoyed that she'd disturbed the story. However, the hour was getting late and Peter knew he couldn't stay any longer. He climbed down from the ivy and dropped smartly into the garden, brushing off his hands on his trousers. He did not notice the figure who stood at the gates, or notice him leave quickly as Peter started towards him. Peter's mind was too full of Wendy and her stories.

Curly poked his head around the corner of the stage. Empty. He tiptoed across the hall and pressed his ear to Mr Barrie's office door. Silent. Finally peeping into the dressing rooms one by one he found each of them to be abandoned.

"All clear!" he called.

Peter, Nibs, Slightly, Twins and Tootles emerged from the basement staircase. Peter was grinning.

"Just as I predicted: Mr Barrie's at a business meeting. Jimmy's out for the day. Smee and Starkey have gone drinking. The stars won't be arriving until later this evening and the only one manning the building is Cookson, and he's fallen asleep at the front desk", he turned to face the semi circle the boys had made behind him. "Lads, we have the place to ourselves!"

There was a loud cheer from the boys who all raised their fists in a salute to their leader.

"So what are we going to do, Peter?" Twins asked eagerly.

Peter thought about it. "Any of you boys ever play Indians Tribes before?"

The group shook their heads.

"In that case, get some face paint, some glue, several long sheets of card and as many giant feathers as you can carry!"

The boys were all off like a shot, skirting through dressing rooms and costume cupboards to find all the necessary items. Peter rubbed his hands together, feeling pleased with himself, but he paused when he noticed the slender form of Lily standing at the end of the hall.

"I used to play Indian Tribes when I was very small", she said quietly. "My cousin taught it to me before he and most of my family moved back to our old country".

Peter hadn't known she'd been in the building. Rather then ask where she'd come from though, he asked: "Do you miss your home?"

"No", she shook her head, making her dark hair ripple. "I sometimes miss the family that we left behind. But this theatre is my home now".

Peter blinked, surprised she felt the same way he did. Walking the length of the corridor he folded his arms in front of him and looked her up and down indifferently.

"Do you still remember how to play?" he asked.

Lily beamed at him, her eyes sparkling. "Of course".

"Great. You can be in my Tribe".

Wendy was positively beaming as her Mother pinned her hair back. Mary Darling couldn't understand what had taken hold of her daughter lately, she was very nearly bouncing in her seat with excitement.

"I've never seen you so eager to go for a walk before", Mrs Darling stated.

Wendy smiled demurely. "I love the park", she said simply.

Friday was always the day when Mrs Darling would take her three children out of the house. They'd have a picnic in Kensington Gardens and the children would play while Mary walked alone, or sometimes sat and read. Today, Wendy had begged her Mother to dress her up properly, even though she was going to be covered by her coat and winter furs once they stepped out the door.

"You carry yourself like a proper lady", Mrs Darling said as they set off.

Wendy had not noticed anything different in her step, except perhaps her brisker pace. Consciously, she ducked her shoulders and lengthened her stride, hoping if anything, for her Mother to point out how she now walked more like a man. When they reached CherryTree Lane, only a short walk now from the park, Wendy stopped their journey with a hand on Mrs Darling's arm.

"Mother, Lucy Daley is having tea with Alice Broad in Mrs Fisher's coffee house today. Might I go and join them?"

"Now? I thought you wanted to come for the walk?"

"I'll only be an hour at most, and then I can meet you in Kensington Gardens before you head for home. Please?"

Mrs Darling was so surprised she never even considered refusing her. So while John and Michael moaned for her to stay, (or at least for them _all_ to go to a coffee house), Mrs Darling rounded them up and firmly led them away. Leaving Wendy in the street by herself. She made sure not to move a muscle until they had rounded the corner and were lost from sight. Then she picked up her skirts and dashed across the road to Mr Barrie's theatre.

It was locked up, not used to opening until late in the evening, and although she knocked on the glass front door, no one came to answer. Fearing someone who passed on the street might recognise her, Wendy trailed around to the side of the theatre. She'd never entered the building from the stage door and was certain her parents would not approve of her doing so. (The only gentry that hung about stage doors were the prowlers who were not fit to be spoken to in polite society). It was not locked and the hallway beyond was empty. Wendy glided in, removing her hat and mittens as she went. She entered the next corridor and peeked into the doorway which led to the stage, although it was pitch black inside.

"Avast and desist!" yelled an angry voice.

Wendy jumped backwards, one hand flying to her mouth to stop her shrieking.

"Don't let em get away!"

From around the far corner, a mob of children came flying, stopping just before they ran Wendy down. Their faces were painted with war stripes of different colours and feathers stuck out of their paper headbands. A second group of children followed them, shouting and crying for them to come back. They all stared at Wendy and she stared back in shock.

"Who's she?" the smallest boy whispered.

They were all boys, Wendy realised, except one girl who stood at the front of the group. Her dark hair was plaited down her back and her skin was tanned and brown.

"Who are you?" she asked. "And what are you doing here?"

"I…" Wendy suddenly felt very silly for sneaking in like a common thief. "I came to see-"

"Wendy?" from amidst the crowd of boys, Peter poked his head out.

"Peter!" Wendy cried. "I came to visit!"

He grinned. He too had streaks of paint covering his cheeks and nose and wore a huge feathered chief hat.

"Great!" he said. "You can join our tribe!"

"Tribe?"

"We're Indians", Nibs explained. "Rival tribes".

"Come on", said Peter, and he reached out and grabbed her wrist. "I'll get you some war paint".

He pulled her into a big dressing room, where stage make up had been laid out and, very clearly, used. Blue, red and yellow smudges covered the vanity tables and finger prints had been smeared on the mirrors. Peter ducked into a closet and pulled out a handful of coloured feathers.

"You can stick these on here", he said, handing her a piece of card.

Wendy obediently sat on an empty stool and began smoothing glue onto her headband. "Peter", she began. "Did you bring me back my brooch the other day?"

Peter wavered beside her. He had been waiting for this. Pulling out the stool in front of her, he sat and started mixing water into the make up cases.

"Yes", he said simply.

"How did you get to my window?"

"I flew up. Just like in your story".

"My story!" she stared at him. "Which one?"

"The one about me".

"Oh", she lowered her face to her work and her fingers continued to deftly stick her headband together.

"Where did you get the idea of mermaids?" he persisted.

She had thought he would ask why she had chosen to put _him_ in a story. "The ballerinas we saw dance", she admitted. She glanced at him coyly. "I knew there was a reason why they move so fluidly when they dance. It's because out of the water, their tails become legs, only their not knobbly and and gangly like real people's legs. Ballerina-mermaids have smooth springy legs, that allow them to move in a way regular people simply can't".

Peter was grinning. "What about the pirates?"

She shrugged. "All grown ups are pirates. It's what happens when you get old", she looked down at her work and her smile slipped. "That's why I wanted to come here".

"So you wouldn't have to grow up?"

She nodded.

Peter was amazed. Even children from wealthy backgrounds weren't always happy! A thought came into his mind then. A small, but commanding thought, one that grew quite quickly until it very nearly showed on his face. He dipped his finger into the blue stage paint and drew a thin line along Wendy's cheek.

"Do you know other stories like that one about Snow White?" he asked.

"Of course. I know lots: Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel".

Peter drew another line along her other cheek. "The Lost Boys love stories", he said casually.

Wendy's eyes lit up. "I could tell them stories".

"Why don't you stay here then?" he said, keeping his voice light, as though it was a perfectly normal suggestion.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Live in the theatre. You'd have to help out, of course, but you could tell us all stories, play our games, I'd teach you how to sword fight-"

"I know how to sword fight!" she interjected crossly. Peter was painting down her nose, so she couldn't scowl at him.

"But I've been taught by a fencing _master_", he pointed out smugly. "You could see the shows, make the costumes, and best of all", he leaned closer and Wendy watched him captivatingly. "You'd never, _never_, have to worry about growing up".

It was tempting. Oh, so tempting. Wendy opened her mouth and for a moment, not even she was certain what answer she was going to give.

"I… can't", she said.

The disappointment on _both_ their faces was visible.

"What about my mother and father?" Wendy said. "They'd never allow it".

"They wouldn't have to know", said Peter rashly.

The door to the dressing room burst open and Lily came flying in, frowning when she saw how close Peter and Wendy were sitting.

"We are all waiting", she told them.

Peter wiped his fingers on a cloth rag and Wendy pulled her headband on, looking just right for a Lost Girl with her war paint in place.

"You can be on my team", Peter said, as they joined the others in the corridor. "We've got Nibs and Tiger Lily", he grinned at Slightly, who was chief of the other tribe. "Now we're even!"

Nibs nodded politely to Wendy and introduced himself.

"What funny names you've all got", she couldn't help saying.

"They're just nicknames. But some of us have had them a long time".

"What's her real name?" Wendy asked, watching Tiger Lily discuss a plan of action with Peter.

"Just plain Lily", Nibs said. "She didn't have a nickname until Peter came. Her Father called her Lily because he knew she'd be beautiful. But Peter calls her Tiger Lily because he thinks she's as brave as a Tiger".

He didn't see how Wendy's mouth thinned at this comment, or the stiff glance that passed between herself and Tiger Lily when they started back to their 'camps'.

For that matter, neither did Peter.

Captain Jimmy Hook watched his crew duel across the length of the room. The Montagues and the Capulets had never fought so well. He'd called the actors in two hours ago to rehearse the sword fight scene from _Romeo and Juliet_ and was only just beginning to feel satisfied with their performance.

The door at the far end of the room creaked open and Peter slinked inside, unnoticed by any but the fencing master. He joined Jimmy at the front and waited patiently for the older man to call the ensemble to order. He congratulated them and dismissed them within a matter of seconds, before turning away and claiming his own sword. Peter picked up a spare.

"Jimmy", Peter started, as they took up their positions. "Remember that girl who came to the show the other night?"

"The one who left her brooch behind?" Peter swiped at him and he blocked deftly with his blade.

"Yes", he drove his sword forward again and Jimmy parried. He was playing with Peter. "She wants to run away".

Jimmy's stance changed abruptly and he lowered his weapon. "Really? Where to? Here?"

Peter nodded.

"Mr Barrie will never hire her. Her parents could shut down the theatre if he did so".

"But maybe Mr Barrie wouldn't have to know", Peter said. "If he just thought she was helping out…"

Jimmy pitied the boy. "Her parents would look for her".

Peter scowled at the floor. Jimmy was his mainstay, he'd relied upon him to give a blessing, proving that it was possible for Wendy to come and live in the theatre.

"So that's it? There's no way round it", he spat.

"I didn't say that".

Jimmy stood back into position and Peter joined him, waiting eagerly to hear his meaning. Jimmy took his time, slowing even the pace of their duelling until he could see the frustration on Peter's face.

"Suppose she did run away and we invented some story for Barrie: her wanting to help out thanks to her great love of theatre, and she'd have to really work or Barrie would get suspicious. You'd need to dress her down, make her look much more ordinary", he took a fast swipe at Peter and the boy only just blocked in time. "She would never be able to leave, there would be too much chance of someone recognising her. You'd need to be prepared in case the authorities caught a whiff of something and searched the theatre, and you'll have to get the Boys in on it or they'll spill something", he feinted and grabbed Peter's wrist, crossing their blades between their faces. "Are you willing for all that, Peter? It's a lot to risk for one girl. If you were caught, you wouldn't be sent to the orphanage. It would be the clink".

Peter met Jimmy's gaze levelly. "I'm ready".

His lips curled into a smile. "Then we'd better prepare".

Wendy lit the candle with extreme care and placed it on the floor, in the centre of her, John and Michael. They were seated quite close to each other, but their makeshift tent didn't allow for very much space.

"What shall it be?" Wendy asked.

John and Michael looked at each other and simultaneously announced: "Peter Pan".

Wendy tried not to smile too widely. "Very well", she started. "On the island of Neverland, there lives a tribe of Indians and one day, they decided to go out hunting. They were hunting the pirates who had recently killed a member of their scouting team. The pirates were off their ship, and trailing through the forest, looking for Lost Boys to kill. The Lost boys, they were out looking for the Indians. The crept about each other, neither party knowing that another was near. Peter Pan was flying low over the forest and saw them all. So he flew down behind the Indians and sneakily pinched several of them on their backs", Wendy brushed her fingers along Michael's own back and he shrank away, glancing around him swiftly.

"The Indians thought it was the pirates, so they doubled back and went the other way. Then Peter flew to the pirates, crept right up behind one of them and shouted: 'en guarde, you scurvy dogs!' And all the pirates drew their swords and fought each other, unsure who had yelled".

Peter perched uncomfortably in the tangled ivy outside the nursery window. He wanted to make sure he wouldn't be interrupted by Wendy's parents. But both Darlings were safely tucked away downstairs, never to know of the boy at the back of their house. Peter poked his head a little way inside the window and spotted a bed sheet pinned down in the middle of the floor, like some kind of a jerry-built wigwam. A flickering light inside, showed the three silhouettes of Wendy, John and Michael. Peter cursed that her brothers were not asleep yet, he didn't really want them around either.

"At once they all attacked!" Wendy was saying. "Pirates, Indians and Lost Boys, all fighting each other with swords, spears, daggers and bows!"

The sound of the floorboards creaking made the three children whip around. Through the thin fabric of their tent, Wendy could see the shadow of someone standing by the window. Her parents had sent them to bed long ago. Quick as thought, she blew out the candle and dived to her feet, knocking the tent back onto her brothers in her haste.

"Peter!" she gasped, when she saw the boy standing inside her nursery.

John and Michael struggled out from beneath the blanket, grumbling at their sister for her clumsiness. They both stopped when they saw their guest.

"Leave now, sir", John ordered, stumbling to stand straight. "Or- or I shall hand you over to the authorities!"

"Oh will you?" Peter bluffed, raising his eyebrows. "I'm not here for you anyway, soppy-nuts", and he looked at Wendy.

"I tell you to leave. There's nothing here worth stealing!" John grabbed his sword from on top of his bed and pointed it at Peter as threateningly as he could. "L-leave now, or I w-will be forced to retaliate".

Peter had duelled with Jimmy using real sharp, bladed swords. But he was not going to turn his back on a willing opponent. He seized Wendy's sword from the floor and reigned down his blows on John. It took him less then half a minute to disarm the younger boy, leaving John speechless.

"You were saying?" Peter questioned.

"Stop it!" Wendy ordered, and she pushed both boys apart, planting herself between them. "It's Peter Pan!" she hissed at her brothers. "From the stories".

Michael looked awed, but John wasn't convinced.

"He doesn't fly", he pointed out.

"How do you think he got up here, then?" Wendy asked, before turning back to Peter. He leaned against the fake sword, completely at ease. She admired that. "What are you doing here?"

"Giving you a second chance. Come with me. I've sorted it all out", he said, as she opened her mouth to retort. "The Lost Boys have agreed to help hide you. We'll tell Mr Barrie you're a girl who was raised by a very charitable old lady, who brought you up for society, but recently died and left you penniless. You've only recently been reunited with your lower class family. You're father's an alcoholic who beats you and your mother is running three jobs to try and keep your family going. You're looking for some work to help her, while trying to get yourself away from them. Simple!"

"There's nothing simple about it!" cried Wendy, who knew not even an avid storyteller like herself could have come up with a tale like it.

"He'll believe it easily", Peter said. "He's got a soft heart for sad tales".

"What on earth is he talking about, Wendy?" John demanded.

"Mind your own business", Peter snapped. "Isn't this what you want?" he asked Wendy. "To run away to Neverland? To have a new adventure everyday? To see shows and even perform in them?"

"I could be an actress?"

Peter shrugged. "I got to be an actor".

He could see he nearly had her. Her eyes were dancing and she smiled as though she didn't even know she was doing it. He reached for her hand but she pulled her fingers back at the last moment and stood firmly behind her brothers.

"What about John and Michael?" she asked. "Could they come too?"

Peter looked the pair up and down uncertainly. John was still seething over his easy defeat and was refraining from meeting Peter's eye. Michael's face showed nothing but admiration for Peter and he beamed when Peter looked at him. He had a feeling Jimmy would make him regret it later, but he smiled at Wendy and nodded once. Her answering smile was illuminating.

"I still don't understand", John admitted reluctantly.

Wendy grinned at him. "Remember everything I've told you about Neverland? Well, it all exists: inside Mr Barrie's theatre! Peter lives there, and he wants us to come and live there too!"

"With the pirates and the Indians and everything?" Michael asked.

"Well... within reason".

The little boy whooped loudly and danced about the room, waving his arms.

"Have you been to this place before, Wendy?" John demanded.

"Of course. I was there today", she announced, proud with the way his mouth dropped open. "Why do you think I came back with blue paint on my nose?"

"You told mother it was chalk blown on you by that street artist!"

She shrugged at the story she'd told them and John approached Peter with his chin held stiffly.

"Will you teach me to fight like you?" he asked finally.

Peter nodded, smiling. And then John smiled too. In fact he grinned broadly and ran about the room collecting things, including the old top hat his father had given him years ago, which he placed atop his head at once.

"Are we going to fly there?" Michael pulled on Peter's coat curiously.

"Well… flying's tricky", Peter said. "For now, I'm going to have to show you how to climb down the ivy".

"Surely we'll brake our necks!" John cried.

Wendy rolled her eyes, much to Peter's delight. "Honestly John", she cajoled. "Where's your sense of adventure?"

She was busy packing things herself, Peter watched her neatly fold clothes and tuck them into a large leather rucksack. She paused by her open wardrobe, eyeing her poofy dresses and gowns.

"You can't possibly bring them", Peter told her. "A penniless orphan would never wear anything that expensive".

"But I thought I was raised by some old dear? Surely I had _some_ decent garments?"

"Which you sold for money", Peter responded plainly.

"Well, we'll need something warm. It is almost December after all".

Peter frowned, but could not persuade her otherwise. Wendy packed the rucksack until it was full and handed it to John to carry. Michael nearly sobbed when he learned he couldn't bring his collection of stuffed animals with him. A noise from downstairs made the children freeze and Peter felt the back of his neck prickle. They needed to get away _now_.

"One teddy!", he ordered the little boy. "No more. Now come on, we've got to go!"

The three of them gathered obediently by the window and listened closely to Peter's instructions.

"I suppose I had better go first", John said, pushing himself in front of the others. "Just to make sure it's safe".

Peter raised his eyebrows but did not object. It took John a whole three minutes before he'd confidently manoeuvred himself outside the window, and then he gripped precariously to the tangled ivy and looked at the grass below him as though it would swallow him up. Wendy whispered encouragement and after a long spell of grunts, and on occasion whimpers, John's feet reached the ground and he jumped up and down, punching the air and cheering.

"Shh!" Peter hissed. "Not so loud!"

Michael was a lot quicker then his brother. He reached the ground in no time at all, being too young to have any real fear for his safety, should he suddenly lose his grip and fall. That just left Peter and Wendy, crouching by the window.

Mary Darling sat forward in her armchair, her knitting needles ceasing their constant click-clack as she listened intently.

"George", she began. "Did you hear something?"

George Darling was heavily engrossed in his newspaper and only managed a grunt of acknowledgement before he realised his wife had spoken to him.

"What's that, my dear?" he asked, raising his head.

"I was certain… perhaps the children have woken up?"

"What makes you think so?" he'd already returned to his newspaper.

She was several moments answering, because she'd just heard it again. The sound of muffled cheering. "George", she said. She knew the sounds of her own children's excitement. But what made Mrs Darling special, was that she knew when it was out of place. "Something's happening".

Peter watched Wendy turn away from the window and survey the nursery she'd grown up in. He knew her parents must have heard their noises by now. John and Michael were being far too loud and boisterous for his patience and he wished bitterly he could have ordered them to go back to their beds and leave him and Wendy be.

"They'll make you grow up, Wendy", Peter told her, knowing it was his trump card. "Soon, all too soon, they'll give you your own room. You'll be separated from your brothers. Taught how to act like a _woman_, rather then a _girl_. What then? Marriage? Children? All your dreams and wishes: gone! They won't let you keep them. Not if you grow up".

Wendy's whole form was motionless. He wasn't sure wether he was getting through to her or not. Hesitantly, he reached for her hand. Rather then pulling back, like last time, she accepted his touch and curled her delicate fingers around his.

"But… forever?" she whispered.

"It's not long at all", he whispered back.

Mary Darling gathered her skirts around her and rose to her feet, her knitting falling to the floor, forgotten.

"George".

Her look startled him into action. He tossed his newspaper to one side and stood by his wife, whose face had paled.

"The children", they whispered simultaneously.

The wind was icy on their cheeks as Peter climbed out of the window, with Wendy close on his heels. They steadied themselves on the creeper vines and he caught Wendy's eye.

"Peter? Will you teach me to fly?"

He opened his mouth, unsure how to respond. But then he saw how her eyes were shinning, daring him to refuse. Daring him to refuse her anything. He grinned mischievously.

"Of course I will".

The Darlings flung wide the door of the nursery. If they had found their children curled up in their beds asleep, they surely would have woken them with the noise they made. As it was, they did not find the children asleep. The three beds were all empty and a burnt out candle, still smoking slightly, was the only indication that they'd recently been in the room.

This did not prevent Mr and Mrs Darling from tearing through every toy and scrap of clothing in their desperate search for the children. Finally, George noticed the curtains billowing and the open window. They leaned out as far as they could, searching the garden with their eyes, though they would later search it many times on their hands and knees too.

They dashed into the streets outside, calling wildly. When they noticed a gentleman in a shabby bowler hat at the end of the road they ran to him, begging for any knowledge he might have of their children. But he was either deaf or did not want to hear, for he kept walking and when they reached the corner they found he'd disappeared altogether.

Of course the constables were called right away. The situation explained. The authorities agreed to take a look around, but suggested the parents sit tight. Children run off all the time, they'd probably return home with a cheeky tale and and a sorry apology. No matter what variants of comfort the constable tried, Mr and Mrs Darling spent their night frightful with worry. All night they took turns searching and waiting.

They would be waiting a long time.

The Gentleman's Club on Bow Street was a very respectable establishment. Men in suit jackets with stiff collars and impressive moustaches spent their evenings gambling, drinking or lounging in solitude. It was a place for men to let their hair down. (Of course this was completely figurative speech. No man would dare set foot inside the building, nor be allowed to, with so much as a shoe lace loose).

Dr Flood was a regular at the Club. He came for the solitude more then anything. He had a regular armchair in the corner, not too close to the fireplace, where he liked to sit and look over his work. This particular night, he was trying to work out a wearying calculation when an impeccably dressed steward approached, leading a less well dressed man in behind him.

"Someone to see you, Dr Flood", the steward said, with a bow.

He waited until the attendant had left before putting aside his papers and sticking the man with a hard glare.

"How did you get in?"

The man's lips curled into a ghostly smile. "I have my ways".

"I thought you weren't accepted in this place anymore?"

"A matter I hope you will be able to change, in due time".

Flood raised his eyebrows. He did not invite the man to sit down, but he did so anyway, pulling forward the closest armchair.

"I have a business opportunity to offer you, Flood. Something that should benefit us both".

He removed his shabby bowler hat, and Flood couldn't help glancing at the gold hook earring he sported. It was downgrading and something no one who attended the Gentlemen's Club would ever wear.

"Oh?"

"Trust me on this. You'll want to hear my proposition".

Flood had worked with this man before. He certainly wasn't a trustworthy fellow, but he had never lost out on anything massive in their previous dealings. Besides, his curiosity was starting to peak.

"What exactly do you have in mind?" he asked.

In answer Jas Hook grinned.

**[End Of Part Two**


	3. Part Three

**A/N:** I'm back! I know, I know, it's been a really long time and I'm so sorry for the wait! I can only hope you'll forgive me and to help you along that path of forgiveness, let me encourage you by saying that Part Three is a whopper! (Over thirty pages on my computer!) Again, I have to thank everyone who has reviewed and added this story to their favourites, it makes my month to get news like that :)

I hope you guys enjoy this next part. There will be four parts to Neverland in total, which means only one part left! *sniff* I do have to warn you guys now that Tinker Bell may not be what you're expecting. I've never liked her that much in any adaption, so this version is very much my own imagining of the character. So, without too much further ado, please read, review and enjoy! :)

( Abbl2 Thank you so much! You're feedback is what forces me to keep writing! (Hint hint!) There quite possibly is some Mary Poppins in Part Two, although it was not knowingly included. What did you pick up on? xx)

( AlexandraKeating Aw, thank you lovely! Hook will really come into his own more in Part Four then anywhere else, but I hope you enjoy him in this Part :) Also, you are very intuitive! That was totally a full blown Labyrinth reference, as I cannot write any story and not tip my head to what is my greatest inspiration. Well spotted! xx)

**PART THREE:**

_Learning To Fly_

Nibs paced back and fourth between the beds expectantly. Peter had been gone well over an hour now. Slightly, while trying to distract himself, had carved a small flute from some spare prop wood and was trying to make it sound nice, although most of the notes he hit made the rest of the Lost Boys shudder. Twins, Curly and Tootles were seated cross-legged around a deck of cards, betting whatever props they'd found around the room against each other.

"I'm worried", Nibs said finally. "What if he's got himself caught by this bird's parents? He could be in the clink right now!"

"Don't say that, Nibs", Twins begged. "I'm scared enough as it is".

"I'm not", Slightly mumbled. "Peter's never got himself caught doing anything. He'll be fine".

"How do you know?" Nibs shook his head. "We should never have let him go through with this. What was Jimmy thinking, agreeing to it?"

"That's what I'd like to know".

Nibs turned to Slightly with a raised eyebrow. "Come again?"

"Well, think about it: What does Jimmy have to gain by hoarding a runaway girl? He's got nothing to hope for, except a one way ticket to goal if he's found out. Why did he agree to Peter taking her here?"

"Excuse me?"

As one, all five heads turned to the top of the stairs, where a girl stood. She looked between them one by one and waved awkwardly with one hand. Her other hand held a battered suitcase.

"Can one of you help me?" she asked.

It was just as Peter had rehearsed it with them. The boys all stumbled upright, lining up on the bottom stair and those who wore hats removed them out of politeness.

"Ahem!" Nibs coughed into his fist and straightened his shoulders out before speaking. "We are honoured to meet you, Wendy Lady-"

"I thought she was a Wendy Bird?" Curly hissed.

Slightly clapped him on the back of the head. "No you idiot! She's a bird, as in female!"

"We hear you are a great storyteller", Nibs continued, hoping the girl hadn't heard the muffled conversation. "We have made up a room for you, and hope you will find it very comfortable. Thank you for agreeing to join us here", then, with a signal to the others, the boys all dropped into low bows and waited.

There was a spluttering noise. It was quickly covered, but then came again. Louder and more insistent. Nibs risked sneaking a glance upwards and found the girl had her hand over her mouth and was rocking backwards and forwards on her step. She was laughing!

"Oh! Oh! I'm- ha ha!" she doubled over, laughing in earnest now. "I- oh! Ha ha ha!"

Twins straightened abruptly, his cheeks red. "What's so funny? We're just trying to be polite, like Peter told us to be!"

The girl wiped her eyes and grinned at the boys. She had very pointy white teeth and they seemed to get sharper the wider her smile got.

"I'm sorry!" she giggled. "I'm afraid I don't know who Peter is! You must have mistaken me for someone else".

She had barely finished before the Lost Boys erupted into anarchy.

"You said it was the Wendy Bird!"

"I thought she was the one?"

"Where's Peter with the Wendy Lady then?"

"Where _is_ Peter?"

A loud whistle broke through their speeches and they looked angrily back to the girl on the stairs.

"Maybe if you help me, I can help you?" she suggested. "Tell me about Peter and the girl you thought I was".

"Oh look!" Wendy cried.

Soft flakes of snow were beginning to fall from the sky. They dissolved on the wet ground and were trod on by the quick feet of the four children.

"Hush!" Peter begged. "Remember, no one can see us now. We have to get to the theatre without being spotted by anyone!"

Wendy nodded understandably and hurried closer to Peter's side. John and Michael had been lively as anything when they left the house, but now they were getting tired and dragging their booted feet. Michael's eyes had even started drooping.

"There it is!" Wendy shouted, then lowered her voice at Peter's disparaging look. "John, Michael, look! Neverland!"

The two boys picked up their heads and their step, eager to see their new home. Peter led them around the back, to the stage door. It was usually locked at this time of night, but after rapping three times, pausing and rapping again, the door was opened by a tall figure in a grey coat and shabby bowler hat.

"Come on!" he hissed. "Inside! Quickly!"

Peter ushered the Darling children in and shut the door on the outside world. He couldn't help feeling terribly pleased with himself, having taken Wendy and her brothers the whole way here by himself and not having let anything go wrong. He grinned at Jimmy, who was eyeing the children warily.

"Why've you got your coat and hat on?" Peter asked.

Jimmy glanced at him. "I was out. I'm not long back".

"But you were supposed to be here to open the door for us!"

"Wasn't I?" Jimmy gestured to the Darling's, who were listening as Wendy told them what lay behind each of the closed doors in the corridor. "Who are the two runts you brought as well?"

"Wendy's brothers".

Jimmy's head snapped back to Peter and he glowered at the boy. "I thought it was just the girl?"

"It was supposed to be".

"Peter?" Wendy was smiling back at him, curiously. Seeing Jimmy, she curtsied prettily and held out her hand. "How do you do? I'm Wendy Moira Angela Darling".

Jimmy and Peter exchanged a glance. They were both thinking the same thing: Wendy would have to lose her formalities if is she was going to survive in the theatre.

"Jas Hook", Jimmy recited, shaking her hand.

"Peter? Is that you?" Twins head was poking through the door of the stage.

"I thought you guys were going to wait down in the basement?" Peter called.

"Well… there was a change of plans…"

Another head poked out, and and after a brief look, the head was followed by the long, slender body of a girl, somewhat older then the gathered children. It took the group a few moments to each work out what was most staggering about her. Peter thought it was her hair, which was raven black and shorter then his, sticking out around her head like the hair of a pixie. Wendy thought it was her clothes, as she was wearing trousers and a long shirt, belted tightly around her thin waist. Not at all an outfit befitting a woman. Jimmy thought it was how the bones in her face stuck out at angles, making her pale skin look taught and sharp. Her red lips and dark eyes a striking contrast.

All together, she had the appearance of a storybook character that had come to life before their eyes. All they could do was stare.

"Let me guess", the girl said, touching a finger to her pointy chin. "You must be Peter Pan".

Peter's face clouded, as he tried to work out how this woman could know him.

"And you must be the Wendy Bird".

Wendy wasn't sure what was more shocking. That the girl knew her, or had referred to her as a bird.

"And you", the girl locked her eyes on Jimmy, who was frowning darkly at her. "Are Captain Jimmy Hook. Am I right?"

"As you seem to know all of us, perhaps you could tell us who you are?" Jimmy retorted.

The girl laughed, the sound bubbly and warm, not at all what those gathered had expected.

"Of course, how rude of me. I'm here by order of Mr Barrie. He's hired me to play Rosalind in the upcoming performance of _As You Like It_", she stepped back and swept a graceful bow, dipping her head almost to the floor. "I am Tinker bell".

John and Michael, who had all but been forgotten, snorted and covered their mouths to stop their chuckles. The girl gave them a look, but perhaps she was used to people laughing at her name.

"Everyone tends to call me Tink, for short".

"Well, Mr Barrie is not here this evening. But I'm sure if you come back tomorrow, you can find him then-"

Tinker bell cut right through Jimmy, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh, I know he's not here. The Lost Boys told me so. But my room at the inn isn't ready yet, so I thought I'd just have a look around the theatre, see what it's like".

"There is no one available to show you", Jimmy said, obviously dismissing her.

"I don't need anyone. I always look after myself, thanks", and with that, she turned on her heel and went back out to the stage.

"Peter?" the Lost Boys had slipped into the corridor while Tinker bell had been talking and Curly now tugged on Peter's sleeve for attention. "Is _that_ her?" he whispered, pointing at Wendy. His forehead creased as he looked at her. "She's the one that was here before".

It took Wendy a moment to notice the Lost Boys. She straightened herself up to her full height and folded her hands neatly in front of her. This caused the boys to dust themselves down and readjust each others jackets. Peter stepped in between Wendy and his men, grinning excitedly.

"Lads, this is Wendy. Our new houseguest".

The Lost Boys let out a loud cheer and threw their hats in the air, making Wendy laugh.

"What about us?" John demanded, finding his voice at last.

As every head in the corridor turned to him, (even Tink's, although no one had yet noticed her peeking around the corner), John blushed and stammered.

"Well, I- I mean- we… you know, we- we're here too".

Peter shrugged and jerked his thumb towards them.

"They're Wendy's brothers", he said.

The Lost Boys cheered again and surrounded them. They wanted to know what stories Wendy knew and when she'd be telling them. They shook John vigorously by the hand and tried on his spectacles. Michael asked curiously if any of them had ever flown anywhere.

Jimmy, forgotten in the excitement of the moment, slipped past them and followed the retreating figure of Tinker bell onto the stage. A battered suitcase had been left to one side of the open curtains, a traveling cloak thrown over it. The girl stepped onto the stage with an amazing grace, kicking off her shoes to reveal bare feet, without even stockings to prevent the cold.

"I dance too, you know", she said, speaking to Jimmy over her shoulder. "I trained for years at the Dvorovenko school in the Ukraine. I tried to get into a Russian school when I left for Moscow, but sadly they said I wasn't good enough", she twirled a pirouette, her balance held perfectly in place. "Apparently I lacked enough motivation".

"You've travelled a lot then", Jimmy commented. He was stood to one side, watching her intently.

"Ukraine, Russia, Ireland, Spain, Paris", she sighed on the last one and smiled wistfully. "You should see Paris at this time of year. Then to Scotland, where I got involved in theatre work. Finally, down here to London", she span three pirouettes, this time finishing to face Jimmy. "With you".

"And you're just here for the run of _As You Like It_?"

"Who knows? Maybe I'll stick around", she smiled, revealing those sharp teeth of hers, then she turned and bounded off the stage.

Hook stayed where he was, watching her flit away through the rows of empty chairs.

Peter darted up the ladder into the costume cupboard. He was finding it quite hard to contain his excitement. As it was, he could barely manage to stand still. Smee's cupboard wasn't so much of a cupboard as an attic filled to the brim with material. Satins, velvets, cottons, paste jewels, canvas sheets, netting, rope, ready to use knitting wool and sewing threads, it all belonged here, under Smee's watchful eye.

"We've made up a bed for you here", Peter said, pointing to the 'mender's couch'. A little chaise lounge, that had originally been placed there with the idea that whoever was making something for a show could relax on it. As it was, no one did any mending or stitching up in the cupboard, so the couch had become little more then a place to toss scraps and fabrics. Peter had ordered the Lost Boys in his absence to adorn the seat in velvet and find a blanket to go over it, so it would be comfortable for Wendy.

Wendy herself, was busy trying to hoist herself up the ladder in her nightgown and coat. She scrambled to her feet and took in the attic, unsure wether to be amazed by the quantity of things or appalled by the messiness of it.

"Smee keeps everything in order", Peter told her. "But he doesn't live in the theatre, so he'll never know you're staying here".

Wendy looked back to her brothers who, in their tired state, were finding it even more of a strain to climb the ladder then her. "What about John and Michael?" she asked.

Peter was getting sick of hearing her say that. "We can find them a bed with us, down in the basement".

Wendy nodded to her brothers, who had just managed to climb fully into the attic. "Off you go then. Down to the basement".

They groaned and mumbled angry retorts, but were too tired to really refuse. As their heads disappeared back down, Wendy turned to Peter and gave him her brightest smile.

"I feel like I'm dreaming", she admitted. "What happens tomorrow?"

"It's the opening of _Romeo and Juliet_, so no doubt there'll be mayhem backstage. But don't worry, I'll look out for you".

Wendy didn't say anything, only continued to smile in that pretty way of hers. Peter shifted uncomfortably and finally coughed loud enough to ruin the silence between them.

"Well… goodnight", he said, and hopped past her to get down the ladder.

Wendy dropped her rucksack beside her handmade bed, putting the lantern Peter had left down beside it. The couch was springy and the velvet throw over it was inviting. Curling up, Wendy sighed out a long breath, loving the way the sound resonated around her. She had really done it. She had really run away. Just like the girl in _Circus Night_. Only she hadn't run away with a travelling circus.

She'd run away with Peter Pan.

The early morning sun woke Wendy the next morning, shining through the circular window behind the couch. The glass had been painted in different colours, bathing Wendy in a rainbow of light. She smiled to herself, she had never awoken to a morning like this back home.

The trapdoor burst open suddenly and Peter dived into the room, yanking Wendy out of her comfortable bed.

"Hurry!" he cried. "Smee's come early to work on some costumes for tonight! He can't find you here!"

So saying, he pushed her down behind a large roll of red felt and ducked down beside her. They were just in time, as Smee bumbled into the attic only seconds later. He was humming tunelessly, pottering about to collect different fabrics and boxes of sequins. Wendy had been thrown into a rather uncomfortable position and as she tried to adjust herself, she pressed her hand into a stray pin that had been long ago forgotten on the floor.

Her scream was muffled by Peter's hand, urgently clamping down over her mouth. Smee whirled on the spot, his small eyes behind his glasses roving from side to side across the room.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

Was it just Peter's imagination, or was Smee's chin beginning to tremble?

"Well? Who's there? Who screamed?" he stepped back nervously and eyed the trapdoor behind him. "I ain't afraid of you!" he warned. "I'm just…" he dropped to his knees and started hoisting himself down the ladder as fast as he could. "Gonna go get Starkey!"

Peter waited until all sound of Smee's footfalls had faded, then he released Wendy and the two of them roared with laughter. They agreed it was better to leave now, so that they would not be caught when he returned with Gentleman Starkey.

"I shall need to get dressed first", said Wendy, indicating the nightgown she still wore.

Thankfully she hadn't brought any of her poofy gowns with her. (They would never have fitted into her bag, anyway). She had instead, packed a white blouse and long brown skirt, as they were the most plain clothes she owned. However, once she'd plaited her curls back from her face and stood before Peter, (who had been standing in the corner with his hands over his eyes while she changed), she still managed to look like the daughter of a Top, and not some penny-wanting stage runner. There was nothing Peter could do about it now though, so he refrained from commenting. Just.

Backstage had turned into anarchy. Jimmy still wasn't pleased with the fight scenes and had commandeered the stage, forcing the actors to duel across it until he was satisfied. Maggie, who was playing Juliet, was busy shouting down everyone she came into contact with, somehow convinced they were responsible for her not being able to remember all of her lines. When Smee finally returned, an irked Starkey at his side, he hooked anyone who wasn't busy into helping him sew the final touches onto costumes.

It was into this midst of chaos that Peter led Wendy. They stood side-by-side in the doorway to the main dressing room, listening to the varying shrieks of command and dismay.

"I can't go on with this!" the apothecary yelled, shaking his crumpled hat which had a broken feather dangly sadly from it, at anyone who would listen.

"I can fix that for you", Wendy said amiably.

She took the hat from him and pulled the feather away, depositing it into the first bin she passed. With exceeding patience, she excused her way through the fretful people and managed to barter a needle and thread from someone. Collecting a fresh golden feather from amongst a pile of costume trinkets, she seated herself outside the corridor, where there was evidently more space and began at once to mend the broken apothecary's hat, until it was just perfect.

A stage hand glanced down at her curiously before sticking his head inside the dressing room. "We've got a problem lads", he announced. "It's the balcony, the ladder won't secure to the railing. We need some help attaching it".

It was a job for the Lost Boys, and everyone knew it. Which was why it attracted so much attention when Wendy stood herself before the stage hand and announced that she would help. She handed the mended hat back to her actor with a brief smile and a 'there you are, sir', before following the gaping stage hand, Slightly and Nibs onto the stage.

The set was incredibly large, and the balcony looked so real with garlands of fake ivy creeping around it's bars. The stage hand grasped the prop ladder and shook it, revealing how unsteady it was.

"They'll have an accident if they try to climb that", he nudged Slightly and held out a length of rope. "Off you go then boy, see how well you can secure it".

Wendy lifted the rope from his outstretched hand before he could move and in another instant was darting up the ladder.

"I think that's secure", she called down. "Wait while I climb onto the balcony, then you check for certain".

She pulled herself onto Juliet's balcony and stood back, allowing the stage hand to shake the ladder. It stayed put.

"Good job", the stage hand said reluctantly. He turned around to face the actors who still duelled across the stage behind them and whistled loudly. "Hey! You guys need to clear off! We got to get the sets in place for tonight!"

Jimmy pushed his hair back from his eyes. He was standing, with his arms folded, in the orchestra pit, while he watched his pupils battle.

"We're not finished", he called out, not removing his eyes from the duelists.

"We've _got_ to get set up", the stage hand said.

"Later", Jimmy hissed. "Mercutio, slow your final parry down. You need to give Tybalt an opening to try and stab you".

"The set takes ages to set up. When do you suggest we do it, Captain? When the audience are taking their seats or during the first Act?"

Jimmy's lips curled as he finally turned to look at the frustrated stage hand. "Which is worse: pathetic sets or pathetic acting?"

A sunny chuckle echoed behind him and Hook turned to see Tinker bell, her arms folded along the rim of the orchestra pit.

"Wow, I'm expecting this to come to blows at any moment", she giggled. Raising her voice, she called to the stage hand: "Why don't you start setting the back drops now and have the prop men standing by to finish it off once Hook is finished teaching?"

The stage hand threw up his hands in frustration, but seeing that he evidently wasn't going to win this battle he shrugged in defeat and turned Nibs and Slightly around, marching them back to the dressing rooms. Quite forgetting that he had left Wendy perched on Juliet's balcony.

Tink grinned sweetly at Hook, who was watching her with raised eyebrows.

"Looks like I did you a favour", she said.

"An unneeded favour".

"But a favour none the less", Tink's smile grew wider, revealing her sharply pointed, white teeth.

"And a favour must always be returned?" Hook asked, resting his back against orchestra pit she leaned on.

"I thought you could take some time out of you busy schedule to show me around the town? Maybe tonight, after the show?"

For a moment, Hook failed to react. Then a slow, sly smile stretched across his face, making him look uncannily like a wolf, having spotted its next prey.

"Very well", he said. "After the show".

Tink pushed back from the orchestra pit. "I look forward to it".

Wendy watched their exchange from her position on Juliet's balcony. She couldn't hear their words above the clanging of swords, but their expressions were easy enough to see. The look that had passed between the two was one Wendy couldn't put a name to, but it made her cheeks flush and burn. She dropped her gaze to her hands, which she'd neatly folded on her lap and began twisting the fabric of her skirt.

"Hey!"

Peter's voice broke through her contemplation and she leaned across the balcony to get a better look at him. He grinned at her from below.

"Maggie needs an extension sewn into her dress. I thought you could do it, seeing how well you stitched up that apothecary's hat".

Dropping to her knees, Wendy slid herself out onto the ladder and climbed down to Peter's side, jumping the last few rungs. Peter's eyebrows shot up and she smiled innocently in reply, making him grin more.

Several hours later, Wendy flopped onto the little chaise lounge that served as her bed. She had never felt so tired in her life and the show hadn't even started yet! Her fingers ached from all the things she'd been ordered to sew. No one seemed to think her presence in the theatre strange. Once Peter had announced her as an extra pair of hands, it seemed everyone had taken advantage of the help and tossed whatever jobs they could find in her direction. And there had been plenty of them!

She had hardly seen Peter or the Lost Boys. They dashed about all over the place: running errands inside and outside the theatre; climbing the stage riggings to help hang the scenery; dashing between dressings rooms and making endless trips from the basement to the costume cupboard and back again.

John and Michael had even been put to work, although neither of them seemed particularly happy about it at first. They had both stumbled blearily into the biggest dressing room, where Wendy was in the process of sticking pins in Maggie's costume, whilst the actress twitched and jumped about, reciting her lines to herself. Curly and Twins were working in the corridor outside, busy trying to untangle several lengths of rope that they'd found amongst the props in the basement and which were needed to replace the fraying ones on the stage. They were making a bit of a pigs ear of it, wrapping the ropes about themselves to try and prevent them tangling again and when they spotted John and Michael watching they pounced on them.

"Here", Curly called. "Give us a hand with this, eh?"

Michael obediently set to work with them, but John was less enthused. Surely such a thing was the job of the prop boy or a stage hand, not the son of Mr George Darling! So while Michael got down on his hands and knees and began picking at a particularly large knot of rope, John stood by, cleaning his glasses on his shirt tail, which he then tucked meticulously back into his trousers. It was thus that Starkey found him.

"Hey", the Gentlemen yelled. "What are you doing, standing around lollygagging? Can't you see we have enough work to do around this place?"

John's mouth dropped open, having never been spoken to by anyone in such an impolite manner. Wendy, still crouching on the floor inside the dressing room with a needle and thread in her hands, panicked. If John said something irate to Starkey it would surely give them away and they'd be tossed out on their ear. But before she could stand up to intervene, Starkey had already cut through whatever retort John was planning to give.

"The other Lost Boys scratched the paint off one of the backdrops while carrying it up. Go make yourself useful, help Smee paint it up. And look sharp!" so saying he grabbed John's shoulders, twirled him around and gave him a benign kick towards the stage.

Wendy watched her brother right himself, carefully adjust his glasses, smooth down his shirt - and walk obediently through to the stage. She found him several hours later, happily in conversation with Smee whilst he showed him the ropes that would control the different backdrops. He barely noticed Wendy until she called out to him. As for Michael, Curly seemed to find the idea of a Lost Boy who younger then him wonderful. Michael stuck to him like a shadow and Curly very happily completed the rest of his jobs with his new friend.

Rolling onto her side, Wendy realised she wasn't just tired anymore, she was also hungry. Thinking back, she tried to remember when she'd last eaten. Nibs had dished out some hunks of bread earlier on, while dashing through the building, but when was the last time she'd had a proper meal that filled her stomach? What about John and Michael? If she hadn't eaten anything, they probably hadn't either. They must be starving!

Picking herself off the chair that was now also her bed, Wendy dived through the trap door and hurried through the flurry of actors, most half in and half out of costumes, who were all traipsing through the corridors. Most of them were rehearsing lines, either by themselves or in groups. Wendy pushed through them, aiming for the basement where she knew she would find the Lost Boys. Smee had kindly informed her that this was one of the few times of day when the presence of the Lost Boys was not only not needed in the theatre, but also not wanted. When actors were trying to prepare themselves, the last thing they wanted was scruffy stage hands running about, disturbing their calm. The Lost Boys would go back to work as stage runners just before the curtain rose, but until then, they were usually ushered to go back to their lair in the basement.

Wendy had almost reached the stairs, when a man stepped backwards out of the dressing room in front of her. She squealed as she bumped against the man's black tailcoat and he turned around with a quick apology.

"Oh, do forgive me! I'm terribly-" his speech stopped when his eyes clapped on Wendy.

The man was tall and thin and his dark eyes peered out of their little round glasses at Wendy, as though she was a particularly fascinating insect that he'd never seen before.

"Forgive me, my dear", he continued after a moment. "I did not see you there".

"My fault, sir", Wendy said politely, even though it wasn't. "Excuse me, sir".

Ducking around him, Wendy walked on to the basement stairs, but when she glanced behind her she found the man was staring after her, that same curious frown creasing his brow.

Forcing herself to continue, she was soon drawn down the stairs by the delicious smell of cooking. Slightly and Tootles were hunched over a small chimney breast in the corner of the basement and she guessed it be where the smell was wafting from. She spotted Twins and Curly sitting across from each other on a pair of iron beds, playing some kind of card game with John and Michael. Peter was laying back on his own bed, his legs dangling off one side and his hands tucked behind his head. Nibs perched cross legged on his pillow and Tinker bell's skinny figure sat daintily on his other side. The pixie haired female was the first one to see Wendy arrive and she winked conspiratorially at the younger girl, as though it was their secret greeting.

"Wendy!" Peter called joyfully when he saw her. "I was just about to send someone to get you! We're making supper".

Tootles grinned toothily at her from the chimney in the corner. Evidently the head cook of the gang.

"Take a seat", Peter said.

He gestured to a heap of fabrics and cloths that had been arranged into a little nest beside his bed. Wendy guessed it had been made up for her brother to sleep in and gracefully lowered herself into it.

"We're just waiting for - aha!"

Wendy looked up in time to see Tiger Lily descending the stairs. She glanced briefly at Wendy, her look filled with nothing that was friendly, before moving around Peter's bed to sit beside Tink. Quite close beside Peter, Wendy couldn't help noticing.

"Congratulations", Tink said, once Tiger Lily had sat down. "I heard Mr Barrie cast you in _As You Like It_".

Tiger Lily smiled genuinely at her. "Yes. I shall be playing Celia to your Rosalind".

"Food's ready!" Slightly pipped up suddenly.

There was a mad scramble as everyone jumped to attention and dashed for a seat in the centre of the room, sitting on the floor if they couldn't fit on the end of a bed. Tootles dumped himself down by Tiger Lily's legs and ran his tongue over his lips in a way that made Wendy giggle.

Slightly carried a large plate into the centre of the circle and it had barely left his hands before every finger in the vicinity was reaching forward to snatch what was on it. Wendy was astonished by their ill-mannered 'snatch and grab' techniques. Even Tinker bell and Tiger Lily had tackled their way between the boys to get to the food. Only when everyone had managed to grab a fistful of something did Wendy actually see what it was they were eating.

A string of sausages had been cooked, (and pulled apart within seconds, thanks to the hungry lot), and a small chunk of bread was all that was left of the little loaf that had been placed with the meat. Wendy took the chunk and the last sausage that had been left for her and held them gingerly on her lap. She had never eaten such a stodgy meal before, and never whilst sitting on the floor without cutlery or even a plate! John and Michael didn't seem to have a problem with it though, following their new friends in heartily tucking in.

Wendy observed the group stoically. Most of the boys talked while eating, (Michael and Curly whispered incessantly to each other between mouthfuls), and Tinker bell argued amicably with Nibs and Slightly. Tiger Lily had managed to seat herself next to Peter, and Wendy watched as the girl leaned closer to whisper something in his ear. Peter's lips widened into a smile and Tiger Lily was so close a dark strand of her hair brushed his cheek.

Feeling her cheeks burn, Wendy lifted herself quickly off the nest bed and without a seconds thought, she stormed away up the stairs. The chatter that had filled the room quickly died down to silence as one by one, everyone noticed Wendy's retreating figure. Tinker bell's sharp eyes darted to Peter and she watched as he blinked and then frowned, baffled by the girl's hurried exit. Tootles shuffled himself around on the floor and finally interrupted the silence by asking:

"Gee, was my cooking _really_ that bad?"

Hook watched from the last wing as the Montagues and the Capulets filled Mr Barrie's stage, the disgusted looks they threw to each other causing the audience to laugh and make appreciative noises.

"'By my head, here come the Capulets'", Benvolio cried.

"'By my heel, I care not'", responded Mercutio.

Hook had a deft habit of fitting himself neatly amongst the shadows, so he was not surprised when Wendy entered backstage that she did not see him. She wandered almost dreamily to the middle wing and then stood, with her hands clasped, her mouth open as she watched the actors on stage. Mercutio had drawn his sword and Tybalt was soon to lift his own.

Hook soon found himself watching Wendy more then he watched the stage. Her face was a mask of rapt attention, her body flinching with every sword swipe and her eyes widening with every traded insult. When Tybalt stabbed Mercutio she visibly jumped and her hand flew to mouth in shock. Hook smiled at her innocence.

"'A plague on both your houses!'" Mercutio cried, clutching his wound and falling to the stage, with Romeo holding him.

Wendy stood, poised in the wing, until Mercutio and Benvolio fled the stage and would have crashed straight into her had she not moved. She back peddled quickly and took up her new position, watching, like Hook, from the shadows. She stayed there for several minutes before Peter poked his head around the backstage door and waved for her attention.

"Wendy!" he hissed.

He hadn't noticed Hook either, yet Hook watched with interest as Wendy first frowned at Peter and then, after a lengthy sigh, followed him out the door.

"Drama", came a whispery voice.

Hook turned sharply and found Tink grinning at him.

"It's everywhere", she chuckled.

That she had managed to slip backstage without Hook seeing was an impressive feat. It showed him that she was almost as good at doing things unnoticed as he was.

"'Romeo, away, be gone!'" Benvolio yelled. "'The citizens are up and Tybalt slain".

In the darkness of backstage, Tinker bell's eyes seemed to gleam and glitter like the cold stars of night. Hook smiled faintly, running one hand along her pale cheek. And along with Romeo, Tink whispered the words that would doom her:

"'Oh, I am fortune's fool!'"

"Come on! Hurry!" Peter hissed.

They didn't have long before one of the stage hands grabbed them to help change backdrops for act four and Peter wanted to give Wendy a treat. Leading her up the ladder and onto the walkway, the pair tiptoed out until they were over the middle of the stage. Maggie, dressed as Juliet and Alphonso, (a guest actor who had come specifically to play Romeo), were standing on Juliet's balcony. They were high enough that if Peter was to lie on the walkway and reach down, he might just have been able to snatch Alphonso rather naff looking wig from his head.

But rather then cause a scene, (however much the audience may have laughed at it), Peter instead leaned over the railing with Wendy and together they watched the scene below unfold.

"'Wilt thou be gone?'" Juliet asked desperately. "'It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale and not the lark that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear! Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale!'"

"'It was the lark'", Romeo responded, his voice despondent. "'The herald of the morn. No nightingale'".

Peter felt his eyes wander unwillingly towards Wendy, who was watching the scene as though her life depended on it. He still wasn't sure what it was that had made her storm off earlier. When he'd finally managed to catch up with her at the side of the stage she'd remained huffy and indifferent and refused to tell him what the matter was. Jimmy had called him away to help prompt while he nipped to the privy and while watching the actors Peter had come up with marvellous idea of taking Wendy for another trip along the walkway. If anything restored Wendy's smile surely it would be _that_.

As Romeo began to descend form the balcony, Juliet leaned over in a desperate attempt to not lose him from sight. Maggie had become passionate with the Bard's most famous heroine. She gripped the balcony rail so tightly, that from their position above, Wendy could see how her knuckles had turned white. She spewed out a torrent of phrases, demanding that Romeo send word of himself to her every hour until they could meet again.

Wendy could feel her throat constricting with emotion at how Juliet must be feeling. Beside her, Peter snorted.

"Can you imagine having to do that?" he whispered. "Having to let someone know where you were and what you were doing every hour of the day? You'd go mad!"

Wendy sniffed, returning her attention to the doomed lovers below. "She's distraught. She's probably not thinking clearly".

Peter chuckled. "Makes you feel glad your not a grown up, eh? All they ever seem to do is moan and worry".

Wendy didn't reply. She admitted freely that the idea of growing up was not something she wanted to face. (After all, wasn't that why she had run away to Neverland?) But something about Romeo and Juliet's interaction had struck a chord with Wendy. It made her curious and yet frustrated that she could not properly put her finger on what it was about their relationship that so fascinated her.

"'Dry sorrow drinks our blood'", Romeo called from the stage. "'Adieu! Adieu!'"

"You should see the sword fight from up here", Peter whispered to Wendy. "Jimmy's trained them all so well".

"Will you teach me how to sword fight? Properly, I mean?"

"Of course. I said I would, didn't I?"

"You also promised you would teach me how to fly", she said, nudging him with her elbow.

"One thing at a time", he teased, nudging her back.

It was a regularity of Mr Barrie's to congratulate the cast and crew after the opening of a new play at his theatre. He would descend from his private box and work his way through the maze of corridors that made up backstage until he could reach his thespians and stage hands, who, by that time, would have flooded the stage, giving out their own messages of appreciation and good wishes to each other.

He had managed to squeeze his way through the crowds, after agreeing time after time the it had indeed been a terrific opening night and was turning to leave, when he walked backwards into Peter's approaching figure and almost toppled over the young waif.

"Woah!" Mr Barrie laughed, as he righted himself. "That's the second time I've stepped backwards into somebody today, and it was-"

He stopped short when he caught sight of Wendy, who stood with Peter alongside the gathered group of Lost Boys and her brothers.

"It was you", he finished. His eyes trailed the length of her, from her brown skirt and white blouse, (which was now covered in tatty bits of thread and hairs) to the golden red curls which had gradually begun to escape from the braid she'd tied them in that morning. His forehead puckered. "I have a good knowledge of everyone who works in this theatre, my dear. But I must admit, my mind runs blank when I look at you".

Peter swallowed, not having prepared to have this conversation with Barrie quite so soon.

"Mr Barrie", he began. "This is Wendy a friend of mine", he moved as close to the playwright as he dared and whispered: "She's been thrown out on the streets by her father. I brought her here in the hope of shelter. She's already worked a great deal today and is willing to do anything in exchange of a roof over her head", he pointed to John and Michael, who were straining to hear to what Peter was saying about them. "Her brothers", he added. "Have no mother to care for them. They look to Wendy for that, but how can she promise them anything when she has nothing herself?"

Peter thought it a stage worthy performance, but he could see Wendy biting her lip in anticipation of Mr Barrie throwing them all out. Mr Barrie did frown, but when he spoke his voice wasn't angry. If anything, he sounded regretful.

"This is a theatre, Peter", he said. "Not an orphanage or workhouse".

He turned to face Wendy and Peter saw her face pale in fear.

"I cannot afford to pay you, my dear", he admitted sadly.

Wendy nodded grimly and dropped her gaze to the floor. Peter's breathing had become ragged as he realised what this could mean.

"But I would never leave anyone to face those cold streets of London alone. Especially ones as young as you", Mr Barrie turned to include John and Michael in this speech. "If you all agree to lend your hands around the theatre, you shall find a solid roof over your heads".

Wendy's head shot up so fast she almost became a blur. Her eyes were wet with moisture, but the smile that lit her face removed any trace of tears.

"Welcome to the theatre", Mr Barrie said amicably.

Michael let out a loud whooping yell and the Lost Boys joined in. Mr Barrie nodded at each of them in turn, winked at Peter, then made his way back to the exit door.

"Yay!" Curly cried, as he jumped up and down with Michael.

"Wahoo!" Tootles chortled, clapping John on the back.

"The Wendy Bird stays!" Nibs laughed and everyone joined in with his cheer.

The play was a wonderful success. Each night, the cast were forced to bow time and time again before the audience were satisfied to let the curtain fall down. The cast and crew were in such high spirits after the last performance a few weeks later that it was agreed a celebration would take place once the audience were safely out of the building. Smee and Starkey left to get some tankards of rum from their local brewery, while the actors changed out of their costumes and make up.

Someone ran through the orchestra pit with the message of the upcoming party and one or two of the less dignified musicians, (or as Slightly called them: the ones who _weren't_ snooty-stuck-up-slimes), agreed to attend and bring their instruments.

Once the stage had been swept and cleaned for the show the next evening, everyone retreated into the depths of backstage to start the party. The musicians set themselves up in the corner of the practice studio and Starkey and Smee rolled the tankards alongside them, dishing out the drinks to everyone who entered. Mr Barrie even showed his face, wanting to congratulate everyone for the fabulous performance. Starkey whispered to Smee that he suspected Barrie might have stuck around, had it not been for the presence of Alphonso, his guest actor.

Evidently considering himself too high and mighty to join the likes of the crew for drinks, Alphonso had turned up his nose at the invitation and Mr Barrie had quickly suggested taking him and Maggie out for a drink at one of the more cultured bars of London. At least Maggie had enough decorum to shout a loud cheer of good wishes to the cast and crew she left behind.

Wendy stood with her brothers and the Lost Boys, (several of whom were trying to figure out how they could sneak a drink of rum without Smee or Starkey clattering them about the ears), when Smee asked the orchestra members to play something from his homeland. Obligingly, they started up an old Irish jig. With more then a bit of rum having been drunk, it wasn't long before a fit of wild dancing ensued. Starkey swung Constance Clegg, who was playing Juliet's mother, into the middle of the floor and began a mad river dance with her. Smee ended up perched on top of his tankard, swinging his legs and wiping his eyes at the memories of dancing to such tunes when 'he was but a boy, growing up in Dublin'.

Peter grabbed Wendy's hand and pulled her into the throng of dancers, spinning her around wildly. Nibs, Slightly and Tiger Lily came up with their own complicated 'stamp and clap' dance which they performed several times to anyone who would watch. Tinker bell could often be seen flitting about the room. She danced with many people, but always seemed to disappear the next time you looked for her. She had just slipped away from the grip of Mr Pipes, the orchestra's conductor and her eyes fell on the still form of Jas Hook, leaning in the doorway.

Slipping deftly through the dancing crowd, Tink made her way up to him and he regarded her inexpressively. Grabbing his hand, she tugged on it, trying to pull him into the dance, but Hook remained coldly still and sober. Seeing that she wasn't going to persuade him to join the merriment of the room, the girl instead laid her hand over his chest and gently pushed him back into the corridor, following quickly after him.

Wendy laughed breathlessly and pushed her sweaty curls back from her face. They had completely fallen out of their braid and the ribbon she'd tied her hair with was now lost, trodden under someone's foot. Peter grinned at her, breathing hard from the dance. Grabbing her hand, he jerked his head towards the door and they slipped outside, their breathing louder now they were in the corridor.

"Where are we going?" Wendy asked finally.

"I dunno, anywhere", Peter shrugged, then said: "Let's go to the stage. I'll race you!"

They both charged away down the corridor, laughing madly. Peter reached the stage door first, but Wendy almost knocked him over with the force of her run.

"Come on", Peter said. "The sets haven't been packed away yet. They won't get around to it until tomorrow. We can put on our own play. Romeo and Juliet? Pah! How about… Romeo: the masked swordsman!"

"And Juliet: the magical sorceress!"

Still grinning, Peter pulled open the door and walked out into the wings. It wasn't until they'd reach the side of the stage that they realised they were not the first to come there. Backing up several paces, the pair looked curiously out to where Jimmy was sitting on the grey costume chest that served as a prop table for shows and also Juliet's coffin in the current play. His head was thrown back and he was smirking temptingly at the woman before him. Tink stood in the middle of the stage, her arms falling in a graceful arc around her slender form.

"You're a beautiful dancer", Hook told her softly.

"I once got told I dance less like a ballerina and more like one with the blood of the Fairy Folk", she smiled to herself, twirling a little pirouette on the spot. "I was never quite sure what they meant by it".

Hook lifted himself off the chest and approached her with carefully timed steps. "You said you couldn't make it as a dancer because you lacked motivation. Isn't that right?"

Tink stood still. Her back to Hook, but her head inclined to him.

"I can't help but wonder", his hands traced a path down her arms, stopping when he reach her waist. Turning her gently towards him, Hook gazed down at her seductively. "What ever could have distracted you?"

Tink's impish face widened into a smile of her own and she pushed herself up on her toes until she could touch his mouth with her own. Hook's hands spanned her back, the back of her head and her own arms snaked around his neck.

Hidden in the darkness of the wings, Peter's face crumpled into a mask of disgust. It wasn't so much the kiss itself that bothered him, but the fact that it was _Jimmy_ and _Tink_ kissing. Jimmy, the man who never looked twice at any woman. The one who Peter looked to as a mentor. Jimmy, his teammate. To see Jimmy in such an intimate act was as vile to Peter as overseeing a bird peck apart a cricket.

And Tinker bell? She'd been more of a friend to the Lost Boys then a friend to Jimmy. Sure, she was older then them by several years. A grown up in age, but certainly not in spirit. She was plucky and just as full of mischief as Peter. Yet there she stood, wrapped in the arms of the man Peter trusted most in all the world. He wasn't yet sure who he felt more betrayed by.

As for Wendy, she felt as though she had yet to learn much about either of the people on the stage. Hook had remained quite aloof when around her, but Tinker bell had been much more open. The plucky young woman had asked Wendy to recite lines with her for the fast approaching _As You Like It_ performance and Wendy had spent many hours over the past few weeks alternating between Celia, Orlando and Phebe, while traipsing up and down the stage with Tinker bell. It had been fun. Tink was a fun person to be around, even if Wendy did always feel a little shy around the other woman's glowing personality.

If Peter's emotion stemmed from the people and not the kiss, Wendy was the exact opposite. She had never seen anyone kiss the way Hook kissed Tink. Mr and Mrs Darling kissed each other every morning before George left for work, but their lips would only peck dryly at the others cheek. Hook kissed Tink like he wanted to ravish her.

Wendy felt her entire body flame at intruding on such an intimate kiss and she tugged on Peter's hand, silently urging him to come away. It took a few seconds for Peter to respond though. He was so lividly furious that when Wendy finally did manage to drag him away he didn't notice where they were going or what they were doing until they reach the stairs that led to the basement.

Suddenly, he shrugged himself free of her and tore his hands through his hair, balling his fists into great tufts of it.

"Peter?"

Wendy reached out to him, but he turned away, banging his fists against the wall. Hard.

"Stop, Peter!" Wendy begged.

"I can't believe he would do that. That they would do that! Jimmy and- and Tink!"

His voice broke and Wendy realised how close he was to crying.

"It's alright, Peter", she ensured softly. "It'll be okay. You don't have to cry".

"I wasn't crying!" Peter insisted firmly. "I don't care about him anymore! Or her!"

He pounded his fists against the wall in a fury and collapsed to his knees, blinking furiously to stop his eyes growing wet. Wendy watched him in agony. Peter was always so strong, it was hateful to see him reduced to this. She knelt carefully beside him but didn't touch him. She knew if she was to lay so much as a comforting hand on his shoulder he would only shrug her away. So instead, she stayed by his side, not touching him, but simply _being_ there for him.

Peter sniffed heavily for a long time before going quiet. Far away, on the other side of the building, the sounds of merriment and music could be faintly heard. The party would no doubt continue for another few hours, before people grew tired enough to creep away to bed.

In the silence of the empty corridor, Wendy watched the rage leave Peter's face until he was calm and still. He straightened himself up and leaned back against the wall, drawing his knees close to his chest. Wendy waited for him to say something and when he didn't, she plucked up the courage to ask him a question she'd been pondering for a while.

"Peter, what happened to your mother?"

His lips thinned, but otherwise his face retained the same blank expression.

"I don't know", he muttered.

"You don't remember her?"

"I remember being taken away from her. I was put in the orphanage and I kept thinking she would come. I was there ages before I managed to escape, and I went straight back to our house, thinking I could creep in the window she had promised to leave open for me. But it was closed. More then that, it was locked and in my bed there was another boy".

Wendy's face betrayed all the sadness Peter refused to show.

"What about your father?" she persisted and he shrugged. "So you came straight here?"

"No, for a while the orphanage kept finding me and bringing me back. It was years before I was finally able to hide from them".

"Who did you live with?"

Images of Bill Jukes and the Beldam who had lived with him in that old ram shambled warehouse for so long flashed into Peter's mind.

"There was no one", he insisted strongly. "Neverland is my home. It's all there is for me", he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped him arms around them.

Shielding himself from the world.

"And it's all I want", he maintained. "To always be a boy and to have fun".

Wendy had the strange feeling that this last remark was directed less at her, and more to convince himself.

The cold had begun to seep into the theatre. Christmas was fast approaching and with it came heavy blankets of snow, brought down in a mixture of gentle snowflakes and angry blizzards.

Wendy stood on a ladder in the foyer of Mr Barrie's theatre. The doors were locked and she, John, Michael, Curly and Tootles were helping Smee decorate the place with hanging tinsel, crêpe paper chains and little dangly ornaments that sparkled under the gas lights. Smee whistled Christmas tunes as they went, not seeming to mind when he went off key or repeated certain sections six times because he couldn't remember what came next.

"It's a shame Mr Barrie doesn't think to get in a Christmas tree", Wendy thought aloud. "It would be so lovely to decorate!"

"We had a Christmas tree in the orphanage", Curly said. "But we weren't allowed to go near it. It was really spindly and would scratch you if you got too close".

"When was that?" Wendy asked curiously, looking down at the the mop of red ringlets that made up Curly's head. From her position high up on the ladder, Curly could have been another of her siblings. He looked more like her then either of her brothers. His hair was almost the same shade as Wendy's and both John and Michael had grown the straight dark hair of their father.

Curly wrinkled his nose as he thought about it. "Years ago. I was really small".

"Hate to break the news to you like this, lad, but you're _still_ really small!" Smee said, ruffling the boy's curls as he passed on his way to the back of the theatre.

"I'm getting bigger!" Curly cried, straightening himself up to until he was practically on tip toe.

"We always had a beautiful tree in our house", Wendy said, afraid Curly might take further offence if she let the conversation continue the way it was going. Smee had gone to fetch something from backstage, so she felt safe enough talking about her family with the gathered children. "Mother and father let us do almost all of the decorating. But it would always be the two of them that put the angel on top of the tree. Do you remember, John? They would place it neatly on top, then look at each other and giggle. As though they were children!"

John was frowning at the paper chain he held. Finally, he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't remember", he said.

"You must do! They did it every year! Oh, and remember the Christmas puddings Liza would make for us? And the year she decided that rather then make one big one, she made each of us our own separate little pudding and decorated them with funny things? Mine had a dress and yours had a sword and Michael had his teddy? Don't you remember?"

John thought. "I remember pudding. It was very tasty if I remember right. I wish we could have pudding like that now!"

Wendy was beginning to grow desperate. "Or the Christmas when we decided we wouldn't go to sleep and the three of us camped out on the nursery floor? We managed to hide some snacks from Liza's stock in the kitchen and we stayed awake for hours telling stories and playing games? And when Mother and Father came in the next morning they found us all lying in a heap because the tent had collapsed and we'd fallen asleep clutching our toy swords? Remember?"

John had stopped listening at this point and was stretching himself up onto the balls of his feet in an attempt to hang a series of streamers around the doorway into the theatre. Wendy swallowed and felt a lump growing in her throat. Spotting Michael playing with one of the ornaments in the corner, she called him over under the pretence of wanting to hang his bauble up. She waited until he reached out to give it to her and then closed her hand around his and looked him straight in the eye.

"Michael", she asked seriously. "Who is your mother?"

He looked blankly at her for a minute, then his face softened into a little smile.

"You, I suppose", he said, his face alighting even more as he heard his own words. "Yes, you are my mother, Wendy!"

"John!" Wendy cried, not caring that her voice had risen considerably. "_John!_" she cried, until he looked over at her. "Who is your father?"

"My father?" he repeated, as though she was silly for even asking. "I don't have a father. I'm a Lost Boy".

"But you do have a father!"

He tilted his head and Wendy was relieved to see he was actually thinking about it.

"Well… I suppose Peter is the closest thing we have to a father really, seeing as he's our leader".

"You think Peter is your father?"

"I suppose so. Yes".

"But what about our _real_ mother and father? Can't you remember them?"

"Wendy?" Tootles pulled on her skirt and she looked down at his cautious face. "Will you be _my_ mother too?"

"And mine!" Curly yelled, not wanting to be left out.

"You're our mother, Wendy", Michael said happily. "And Peter is our father. There, it's settled!"

"Looks like you've got your hands full".

Wendy almost toppled off the ladder, Tinker bell's voice shocked her so much. Since the night she had seen her and Hook together, Wendy hadn't spent much time with Tink. She had spent a lot of time with Peter and Peter was all but refusing to spend time with either of them. Her skinny figure stepped through the doors from the auditorium and she looked around at all the decorations they'd hung so far.

"You've done a great job! You and your children!"

She winked and Wendy bit her lip. She wasn't sure how much the woman had heard, but she didn't think she'd been there long enough to hear Wendy say anything about her family. Her _real_ family, that is.

"Not long now until Christmas", Tink said, holding the ladder steady while Wendy climbed down. "Got any idea what to get your little ones?"

Wendy knew Tink was only teasing her, since she'd heard what Michael said about Wendy being a mother to all the Lost Boys, but it made her realise something. If the Lost Boys didn't have parents, or any proper guardians, they probably didn't have anyone to get them presents at Christmas.

Pulling Tink confidentially to one side of the room, Wendy asked softly: "Does anyone ever get them anything for Christmas, do you think?"

Tink raised one slender eyebrow. "Of course no one gets them anything. These kids barely know where their next meal is coming from. Surely you've been here long enough to realise that, Wendy. You've been here as long as I have".

Wendy thought of all the Christmas mornings she'd spent with her parents. Waking up to a little pile of presents without considering how lucky she was to have them. She thought of Liza's funny little baked treats that she gave Wendy and her brothers, for no other reason then because she could. She remembered all the birthday presents, holiday gifts and little trinkets her parents had given their children throughout the year. All the things she had taken for granted.

"I can't let them wake up on Christmas with nothing!" Wendy said fearfully. "Perhaps I could make them something? There's stacks of fabric up in my loft".

Wendy, over the time she'd been living at the theatre, had begun more and more to think of the costume cupboard as her 'loft'. It was the place the Lost Boys came most nights after a performance, (or sometimes in the evenings when they weren't needed before a show), to hear her tell them stories. She would sit on her bed and recite, and they would sit on the floor around her, with Peter being the only one permitted to perch with her at the end of her chaise lounge.

"If I could find some wool, maybe I could knit them all something", she said to herself.

Tink patted her shoulder. "You've got a mother's heart, Wendy. What about your husband?"

Wendy frowned and Tink laughed brightly.

"Peter", she explained.

Wendy hadn't even thought of Peter. "I could make him something too, I guess. But how I would love to give him something really special. Something terribly precious, that really means something!"

Tink's eyes glowed and Wendy should have taken it as an omen to walk away. Instead, she stayed where she was and listened, rapt, as Tinker bell told her she had a wonderful idea of just what to give the boy. Then she hooked one arm around Wendy's shoulders and drew the girl close, so she could better whisper in her ear.

"That should do it", Starkey called up from the stage.

Peter fastened the last rope onto the walkway, securing the final backdrop to stay up in the flies, out of sight of the audience. He tugged on the rope, checking it wouldn't come crashing down on anyone's head. When he was satisfied it wouldn't come undone, he swung his leg over the walkway and grabbed a loose rope that had been swung over a high bar in the ceiling. The rope had been connected to a piece of scenery that was meant to 'float', with the other end of it was held down by a heavy sandbag that lay, crumpled on the stage.

"No, Pan!" Starkey yelled. "Not again! Don't you dare!"

Gripping the rope with both hands Peter swung his other leg off the walkway and wrapped his legs around the rope, hanging in midair like a performer of the Indian rope trick. Starkey swore loudly and Peter climbed, hand over hand, down the rope until he could leap safely onto the stage. Starkey punched him in the shoulder and let off a torrent of furious curses, which only made Peter snort with laughter.

"Mind your language, Starkey!"

Hook emerged from the wings into the lights of the stage. He wore his coat and shabby bowler hat and the gas lamps distorted his face with dark shadows, making him look quite fierce. Even as he smiled.

"And they call you a gentleman", he mocked. "Poor Peter hears enough ugly phrases while out on those London streets. He doesn't need you to shout them in his home too".

Starkey muttered something incomprehensible and left, but not before nodding apologetically to Hook. Peter shifted uncomfortably once he'd gone. He hadn't been alone with Jimmy since before he found him kissing Tink. He didn't know what to say to him.

"You've been avoiding me", Jimmy said.

It was a fact. Not a question. Peter shuffled his feet.

"Have I done something to upset you?"

Peter swallowed and stared at the rope he'd just climbed down.

"I can't apologise when I don't know what I've done", Jimmy said, taking a step closer.

"You don't have to apologise for anything", Peter mumbled. He took a deep breath. "I… saw you with Tink. Here", he gestured to the stage around them.

Jimmy's eyes drifted to follow Peter's gesture, before settling back on the boy before him.

"And you don't approve?" he asked.

"We were supposed to be partners", Peter said quietly.

"I'm not planning on marrying Tinker bell, if that's what you're worried about".

Actually, it wasn't what Peter was worried about. He knew Jimmy wasn't the type to get married. What had been niggling him and picking at him since he saw them together was the idea that they had been a team. Peter and Jimmy. Friends. Comrades. The Lost Boys may have ben Peter's crew, but Jimmy was his mentor. The stage hands and actors were Jimmy's students, but Peter was his protégée. If Jimmy fell for Tink, or any girl, it would break that.

It would break _them_.

Jimmy stepped closer, until he could reach out for Peter. He clasped the boy's shoulders and when Peter still refused to look at him, he knelt down, the better to meet his eye.

"I want you to listen to me, Peter", he said firmly. "You and me, we're partners. Kindred spirits. More then that, you're like… like a son, to me. I would never intentionally hurt you, Peter".

His eyes bore into Peter's and the boy swallowed, feeling ashamed that he'd held such resentment against the man.

"I won't deny, Tinker bell is a very… alluring woman. But you and I, Peter, we're far stronger then any girl. They'll come and go, but we'll stick together. Right?"

Peter nodded and Jimmy pulled him closer, hugging the boy to his chest. A little squeak of surprise broke the two apart and they both looked to see Wendy standing in the doors of the auditorium. Seeing she'd intruded, she glanced back the way she'd come and made a gesture to return, but Jimmy beat her to it.

"I'll just fetch my script", he said to Peter. "Then I can leave you two alone".

So saying he tapped Peter's shoulder and wandered into the wings to retrieve his prompt script. Wendy hurried up to the stage and met Peter as he seated himself, with his legs dangling off the edge. She was dying to know what had happened between him and Hook, but by the look on Peter's face she knew he wasn't going to talk about it.

"I realised something, Peter", she began instead. "It's almost Christmas".

"I've known that for a while", he teased.

"No! I meant, it's almost Christmas and we have nothing to give the Lost Boys as presents".

Peter frowned. "It's not like we can do anything about it. Besides, they've gone years without getting presents. So have I".

"But it seems such a shame. I thought, I could maybe _make_ them some presents. Out of some of Smee's materials. It wouldn't really be stealing, not if I use the scraps he'd most likely plan on throwing out".

"What would you make?"

"I could make Michael and Curly twin cuddly bears. A felt cover for Slightly's flute. Maybe even a cap for Tootles, his other one has so many holes in it".

Peter nodded, a slow grin taking over his face.

"Okay. You make the presents and I'll prepare the Christmas feast".

"Feast?" Wendy repeated, thinking of the measly scraps they called meals.

"Sure! We've each been putting aside some of our pay over the last few weeks. It's not much, but it will get us something tastier then dry bread!"

Wendy smiled. "I think it's going to be a great Christmas, Peter".

She moved away, heading back to the foyer to help pack away the empty decorations boxes and maybe sweep up the strands that had fallen off the tinsel. She paused before she'd taken half a dozen steps though, and turned back to face the boy who had changed her world.

"And Peter? I have something already, a present for you".

Peter's eyes lit up with excitement. "What is it?"

"You'll just have to wait!" she cried, before making a quick dash out through the double doors.

"She is sweet, isn't she?"

Peter craned his neck back to see Jimmy standing at the edge of the wings. He watched the doors close behind Wendy and smiled.

"Pretty too".

"I don't have anything to give her", Peter admitted, chewing hip lip. "I could buy her something, but I don't have very much", a sudden thought jumped into his head and he looked back at the rope he'd used to climb down from the walkway. "Jimmy", he started. "Can you do something for me?"

Hook quirked his eyebrows and Peter grinned.

"I think I know what to give Wendy for Christmas".

Jimmy observed the boy for what seemed a long time before he chuckled to himself and shook his head.

"What?" Peter asked.

Jimmy walked out to the centre of the stage and Peter got to his feet in time for him to ruffle Peter's hair.

"Nothing", Jimmy said softly. "You'll understand when you're older".

It was all arranged. Everything had been set. The theatre had closed for Christmas Eve and wouldn't open until December 27th. Of course that didn't mean it would be empty. Smee and Starkey were keeping an eye on the place and Tinker bell, who had finished her run of _As You Like It_ and was supposed to be leaving for Paris, had told Mr Barrie she would rather stick around and audition for his next production. Thus she offered to watch the theatre for Mr Barrie over the three days of Christmas and check in on the Lost Boys. Mr Barrie himself was going to spend Christmas with some of his literacy friends in Scotland. Jimmy was staying in London, although he told Peter there was a lot of business he had to see to over the holidays, so he'd be kept busy.

Peter organised his crew down in the basement on Christmas Eve. They all scuffled about, arguing about who would present Wendy with her Christmas present until Nibs, who was lookout, hissed that she was coming and they all jumped to attention at the bottom of the stairs.

Peter was determined to give Wendy a nice Christmas. He'd heard her questioning John and Michael about their parents and worried she might be missing her home. Neither she nor her brothers had left the theatre since their arrival, but Peter had. The magistrates had been searching for them. There had even been an article in the newspaper. THREE LITTLE DARLINGS STILL MISSING. It was a wonder the constables hadn't raided the theatre yet.

Wendy descended the stairs into the basement, expecting to find the boys playing and instead encountered them huddling together with big grins on their faces. Tucking the leather prop bag she was using to carry their presents in behind her, she waited expectantly to be told what they were up to.

"Mother", said Curly, stepping forward. "We would like to give you something".

So saying, they parted their huddle enough to show her the dress Slightly and Nibs were holding. It had been Peter's idea. Smee had done a clean up/throw out with his costumes and props and Wendy had gathered what he was getting rid of in order to sew presents for the Lost Boys. Peter had been helping her carry things and when he saw the dress, (being thrown out because it had too many moth holes in it to be patched nice enough for the stage) he had hidden it away.

The dress was red imitation velvet and gathering what other large scraps he could find, Peter had ordered the Lost boys to decorate it until it was pretty enough to give Wendy. Together they attached shawls, scarves and cast offs to it, making it look quite puff and lopsided, but they added bows and the prettiest patches the could find and the result was a dress the colour of autumn and fit for a heroine.

And Wendy loved it.

"I sewed the the long bit on the sleeve", Curly told her proudly.

"I added the bows around the waist!" Tootles claimed.

"See the fine stitching around the dark shawl there? That was me", said Slightly.

One by one, they all pointed out the bits they had stitched into the outfit and Wendy thanked each of them in turn for it. Then she reached behind her and pulled out their own presents. She had stayed up for hours each night, stitching and sewing them.

Tootles got his promised cap; a deep blue one, with a strip of red ribbon around the rim. Slightly had a green felt case to keep his flute in and Wendy had even fashioned it with a drawstring, so it wouldn't fall out! Michael and Curly were given identical looking teddy bears, one brown and one black. Twins had a pair of earmuffs, as he always complained about how his ears turned scarlet in the cold. Nibs had been fashioned an olive green wallet and John was presented with a silk neckerchief.

Each boy thrilled at his gift. None of them had been expecting to receive anything and no sooner had they been given their present when they departed to their beds, showing each other what they'd been given. Wendy held her new dress to her and twirled around, nearly knocking into Peter as he came up beside her.

"Come on", he urged. "There's something else".

Taking her hand, he pulled her up the stairs and down through the corridors towards the stage. Wendy made him stop in the main dressing room so she could change into her new dress, but even that small delay had him fidgeting.

"Hurry!" he implored, once she'd stepped back into the hallway.

"What is it?" she asked, happily swishing the skirts of her new dress.

"It's _my_ present for you".

Taking her out into the stage, he made her stop in the middle, his face dancing with excitement.

"Close your eyes", he instructed.

He waited until she'd done so, then released her hand and slipped quickly away. Wendy was left standing alone with her eyes shut, trying to hear what was happening.

"Peter?" she called. "What's going on?"

"Keep your eyes shut!"

"I am, I am! What are you doing?"

There was the sound of scuffling and then a loud creaking.

"Okay", Peter said. "Open you eyes".

Wendy did so and was greeted by an empty stage. She peered into the darkened wings, looking for any sign of Peter, but it was far too black to see anything. A breeze stroked the back of her neck and she whipped around, certain that breeze had not been a phantom wind but caused by someone moving. However, there was neither sound nor shadow of anyone.

"Peter?"

She turned on the spot, trying to see where he could have gone to. The same creaking sound was heard and this time a dark shape flitted across the stage. Wendy jumped backwards and craned her neck up, just catching a glimpse of something as it disappeared high into the wings above her head. She waited, watching with trepidation until the shape came back, this time skimming lower and lower until it landed right next to her on the stage.

It was Peter, of course.

"You- you-" Wendy looked from Peter to the ceiling in amazement. "You flew!" she cried.

"I promised, didn't I?"

He held out one hand to her and she stared at him. Not quite following yet.

"You're… going to teach me how to fly?"

Peter grinned and tugged twice on the rope that connected him to the rafters. He soared upwards immediately, gliding across the stage with such ease it agonised Wendy to only be able to watch.

"I'll teach you how to ride the back of the wind", Peter told her, flying just out of reach. "We'll soar upwards and mingle with the stars. Join the fairies in their nightly dance. Fly with me, Wendy".

He touched back down to the ground and Wendy eagerly accepted his hand. He led her into the darkness of the wings, where he helped her attach the spare flying rope around her waist.

"But, how do you do it?" she asked, raising herself onto the balls of her feet with no apparent change.

"Just think of something happy", Peter invented quickly. "You know how grown ups always look weighed down when something bad has happened? It's because they're thinking things that make them sad. Think of something happy and you'll be so light, you'll be lifted right into the air".

Wendy bit her lip, watching Peter while he spoke. She looked at their clasped hands and the tiniest smile graced her lips.

"I have it", she said quietly and looked him in the eye. "I know what my happy thought is".

Peter grinned and began to run out from the wings, pulling Wendy with him. They had barely reached the middle before Wendy's foot failed to meet the ground and she found her legs kicking the air. They were up, soaring over the stage! Their arms flailing and their feet dangling. Swinging into the wings Peter showed Wendy how to grab the pulley system of ropes that were taught enough to hold their weight.

Then they kicked off from the wall, letting go of the ropes and flying back out across the stage, gliding from one side to the other. Wendy was not quite so elegant in her flight as Peter. She couldn't help kicking her legs and occasionally flapping her arms in an attempt to help her journey. Peter, having been rigged to the flying system before, was much more graceful as he cut silently through the air.

As they flew, the stage lights began, slowly, to light, turning the world green and blue in turns. They caught a trail of dust motes that hung in the air around the children, making them stand out and then transform into little golden speckles, which shone in and out of sight. Wendy gasped and Peter grabbed her hands turning them in an arc above the ground. She stared at the golden dust motes in wonder and Peter smiled.

"Fairies", he improvised.

Wendy gaped at them and then at the ground far below. She was hovering at least eight feet off the ground, her hand curled nervously inside Peter's fist.

"Is this real?" she whispered to him.

His answering smile was breathtaking. "Only if you believe it is".

Smee grunted as he pulled Wendy's flying rope and Jimmy shushed him quickly. He didn't want the ignorant Irish man to spoil this for Peter. The boy deserved to have a nice, private, precious moment with Wendy. Goodness knows he wouldn't get another one after tonight.

He pulled Peter's rope taught and watched as the pair twirled happily in the middle of the stage. It looked as though Peter had forgotten him, he was so fixated on Wendy. They were floating in their own little bubble and Jimmy smiled at the irony of the situation. There was Peter, getting mad at him for having a fling with Tinker bell. Yet he was blissfully unaware of the effect this Wendy Darling was having over him.

Jimmy sighed and it was Smee's turn to shush him, though he apologised when he saw the look on Hook's face. Jimmy just hoped Peter wouldn't be too upset when Wendy left. He still needed Peter on his side. The boy had proven to be a very quick thinker, even if he was rather impulsive. And with Peter came the Lost Boys, and extra hands were always helpful. Yes, Peter was a useful tool to have on his team.

They floated, the swam, even dive bombed through the air. Wendy twirled a pirouette and Peter turned a somersault. It was exhilarating! At long last, feeling breathless with laughter, Wendy touched down to the ground and lay flat out on her back, panting with exertion. Perter landed beside her and skipped a circle around her, before crossing his legs and sitting nimbly nearby.

For several minutes while they gathered their breath back, neither of them did anything but sit and watch the dust motes that flew over head. They were glowing so exactly like fairies it was strange to think of them as anything else. Wendy found if she let her eyes droop lazily until they were almost closed, she could make out tiny limbs and wisps of hair. Catching their tiny figures in her unfocused eyes.

At length, Wendy pushed herself up on her hands and presented Peter with her brightest smile.

"Peter", she started. "I haven't given you your Christmas present yet".

"What is it?"

She crept forward boldly, until she could kneel facing him.

"I should like… to give you… a… a…" the words faltered in her throat and she found herself blurting: "A thimble".

Peter's face fell, (perhaps at the idea of such a tiny, unexceptional present), but he regained himself enough to hold out his palm for it. Wendy bit her lip awkwardly.

"It's not that kind of thimble", she admitted.

Peter's hand remained out. "What is it?"

"Close your eyes".

He did so, quicker then she had when instructed. Wendy looked at him helplessly and her eyes fell on his waiting hand. She slid her own fingers into it, feeling she had to do something, other then bat it away.

"It's like this", she whispered.

She leaned closer, until the red tendrils of her hair tickled his cheek and her lips brushed softly against his own.

Peter's reaction was immediate. He leapt backwards, an impressive feat, considering he'd been sitting with his legs crossed. His face was a mask of outrage, anger and beyond all of that, genuine hurt. Wendy babbled, trying to explain her actions without actually managing to say any viable words.

"I'm sorry!" she finally squeaked.

"No! Stay away!" he cried, as Wendy reached for him.

"Peter! Please, I didn't mean-"

Tears were sliding down her cheeks, but Peter continued to back away.

"Why did you do that?" he demanded. "Why did you have to spoil everything? I thought we were friends. I brought you here, I taught you to fight, showed you the plays. I taught you to fly! Why did you have to spoil it?"

"I didn't mean to! I thought there was more and-"

"What more? We're friends, what more is there?"

For the first time, Wendy looked beyond her tears and panic to the boy who yelled at her and the confusion she saw there.

"Peter… don't you ever think there's something else? Something we're not seeing?"

"This is it, Wendy. Why would you want anything else? This is what there is, so why spoil it?"

"But, I can't help but think… that there _is_ more", she said slowly, afraid of his reaction. "But, that maybe you need to be grown up, to see it?"

"Why would you ever want to grow up?"

The question wasn't just aimed at Wendy, it was aimed at the world. At every child that had ever had the notion that being a adult might be more fun then being a kid. Wendy thought of her parents. Of Hook and Tink. And finally of herself and Peter.

Why indeed?

"I don't know", she admitted weakly. "Maybe things become clearer then?"

"Well, I will never grow up!" Peter declared. "No one can make me. Not even you! I thought you came here because you didn't want to grow up? If that's not it, then why don't you go back to you parents and grow up with them?"

Wendy hiccuped and froze in shock at Peter's words. Did she really have to make that decision? Peter had said in Neverland you never had to grow up, but how did you stop yourself from doing that? How did she stop her feelings for him being anything but what they were?

"Go on!" he challenged. "Go become a lady! Go grow up", he charged away from her, ripping the straps of his flying rope off as he went.

Wendy dived after him, desperate for one last attempt at saying sorry. But she only got as far as the wings when Peter called cruelly over his shoulder:

"And take you thimbles with you!"

Helpless, Wendy dissolved onto the floor of the stage and gave into her tears.

Hook opened the stage door to the two men and stood back to allow them entry. It was snowing again outside and they were both bundled up heavily in thick black coats, their hats caked in the fluffy white residue.

"You're the gentleman who sent the note?" the larger of two men asked.

Hook nodded, bolting the door behind them. "Why don't you come this way? Mr Barrie's office is open and I think you'll find it warmer in there".

"Mr Barrie lets you into his office when he's not around?" the man asked suspiciously.

"I've _been_ in", Hook clarified. "When I've needed to fetch something and he's never minded. But under the circumstances I think his office is just the place you want to be".

He led them inside and closed the door. Then he brightened the lights and directed the two men to the chaise lounge that sat against the wall.

"You said you had information as to the whereabouts of the Darling children?" the first man asked again. He was evidently the one that did all the talking. The other man, a smaller, skinny fellow with a ginger beard, seemed content to eye up the room, his black gaze drinking in everything.

"I can tell you exactly where Wendy, John and Michael are", Hook told them. "But I forget my manners; can I offer you gentlemen some brandy?"

"Where are they?" the first man demanded, ignoring Hook's attempts at hospitality in his eagerness.

"They're here. In this very theatre".

Both the men looked at each other in shock.

"Here?" ginger-beard finally repeated.

"Yes. They've been living here for the past several weeks. Ever since he kidnapped them".

"He?" the first man persisted.

Hook smiled, a glint of cynicism in his eyes. "The reason I've brought you in here", he said, gesturing to the office around them. "I think you'll be very interested to hear about him and _all_ of the things he's been up to".

Wendy shuffled down the basement steps with a heavy heart. She could barely bring herself to lift her head when Nibs asked if she was alright. They were all down there, still examining the presents she'd made them. Tootles scuttled forward, his new hat clasped in his hands and at the sight of it Wendy almost burst into tears again. She thought of Peter's present and how he'd rejected it and she rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes to stop them overflowing.

"I say, Wendy", John said, pushing through the ring the Lost Boys had made around her. "Whatever's the matter?"

"You're not ill, are you?" Michael asked worriedly.

"It's terrible being ill. I was ill once and I trembled so badly I had to stay in bed and couldn't move!" Curly told her passionately.

"I am not ill", Wendy mumbled through her hands.

Now, Wendy was not a girl who liked great amounts of attention. And although she would have liked terribly to curl up in a pair of strong, warm arms and let loose her sorrow, she knew she could not cry in front of the Lost Boys. Not only because they wouldn't know what to do, but because by now, even Nibs called Wendy his mother. And mothers had to be strong.

Brushing the last of the tears from her cheeks, Wendy knelt in front of Michael and held his arms tightly, making him look at her.

"Michael, I want you to think carefully. Who is your real mother?"

Sighing the way only an impatient young child can, he replied: "You are my mother, Wendy".

"No", she shook her head firmly. "You have a real mother and a real father, who both love you very much and who I'm sure miss us terribly", she looked imploringly at John. "Mother would tuck us in every night, even if it was I who always told you stories. Father would lift Michael onto his shoulders and run about the room with him after his bath and he taught you how to play chess, John. Don't you remember the hours you would both spend on a Sunday? Staring at the board while mother and I called you both boring old automatons?"

John was staring at his shoes. He blinked several times, then moved slowly, as though unsure of his movements, over to the little nest bed he shared with Michael. Digging behind it, he pulled out a tall black object, quite battered and crumpled, but still recognisable as what it once was.

"This was father's top hat", he said. "He gave it to me as present, to wear to church".

Wendy nodded eagerly and John stared at her in astonishment.

"You're not our mother. Not really. I'd almost forgotten…"

Twins, who had been shifting uncomfortably throughout these revelations now crouched down in front of Wendy, his eyes imploring her with their roundness.

"But, don't you want to be our mother, Wendy?"

She patted his shoulder and did her best to smile.

"I've loved being your mother", she told him, turning to include the other boys as well. "But it's not real and we have real parents".

"Will they come to the theatre, Wendy?" Michael asked, beginning to buy into this idea of real parents. "Will they come and live with us?"

Wendy shook her head. "No".

A visible sadness fell on her brothers. Their hopes had been lifted with the remembrance of their parents, but was now lost when they realised they wouldn't get to see them.

"We're going home", Wendy declared.

Her words caused uproar among the Lost Boys.

"Leave Neverland?"

"You can't go!"

"What would we do?"

"You wouldn't really leave us, would you?"

"I'm sorry!" Wendy cried. "I am sorry! But, we _must_ go. We've already been here far too long. It was a cruel trick that we played on our parents, running away like that. We have to go".

The boys heads dropped in sadness and Curly started sobbing. Beyond them, Wendy spotted the still figure of Peter, standing motionless halfway down the stairs. He stared at her bitterly.

"You've made your decision?" he asked.

Wendy nodded, but the Lost Boys were insistent.

"Don't let her go, Peter!" Twins cried.

"Aye, tie her up!" Curly shouted.

"If she wishes to go, we will let her", Peter told them, his voice indifferent.

Never ones to disobey a command from their leader, the Lost Boys turned, as a last resort, back to Wendy. Their faces pleading. It would have been the perfect time for her to give them some words of comfort. Some parting advice that would warm them and make it easier for them to let her go. But, unable to think up a single warm or comforting word, Wendy simply held her arms out and let each of the Lost Boys come in turn for a hug.

"I'll arrange for you to be brought home", Peter said, once the hugs had all been exchanged. (He had not moved from his place on the stairs). "While you gather your things".

Wendy nodded again and he retreated, having not shown her one ounce of regret over her choice to leave him.

The feeling of merriment hung in the air around the posher estates of London. Every third house was holding a party. Grown ups were laughing and dancing in their parlours, children were giggling in their beds and excitement was being drunk like wine.

But there was one house where this excitement did not reach. Number fourteen had been silent and cold for so long, any merriment entering through the walls would have seemed like a cruel jest to its inhabitants.

George and Mary Darling sat in the nursery, the same way they had every night since their children's disappearance. George was curled on the floor, beside the fire, staring vacantly into the flames. Mary had taken her usual seat by the window and she too stared. But where her husband had begun to look and not see, Mrs Darling's eyes saw everything. She counted every star in the heaven; she noted the well-dressed figures that passed on the street; she even watched the birds nest, which had long ago been vacated, but was only now starting to crumble and fall away from the tree in the neighbours garden.

"Mary", George croaked, his voice dry from crying. "Come away from the window".

"I can't", she beseeched. "They may come back at any moment. I want to see their approach".

"You'll catch cold. We always leave the window open for them, but you'll catch a chill if you continue to sit there. Come sit by the fire".

"George, what if they come back tonight? It's Christmas Eve, surely they'll come back!"

"Then we will wait for them. But please, come sit here, where it's warm".

His entreats finally became too much and Mrs Darling removed herself from her seat at the window, crouching instead down beside her husband where they curled up with a blanket and began to doze.

It was into this heartbroken picture, that Peter stepped.

Having climbed the ivy, which was now terribly overgrown and prickly, he had listened for voices a long time before letting himself in though the open window. He froze upon seeing the Darlings curled on the floor, but regained his cockiness once he was assured they were asleep.

He was determined to find out what it was about this place that Wendy was so eager to get back to. Something wonderful enough for her to want to grow up. Something special enough to leave him behind for it.

He inspected the room thoroughly. Opening toy chests, peering in wardrobes, nosing through book after book. These things were expensive and pretty and interesting, but there was nothing there that Wendy had ever claimed to have missed or longed for. So what was it she wanted so badly to come back to?

"Wendy…"

Peter jumped a foot in the air. Mrs Darling had turned her head, but on closer examination, Peter found her eyes to still be closed. Even in her sleep, she called out for the one she loved. Feeling very bold, Peter crept close to the woman, until he was crouched right in front of her.

"You want me to bring her back", he whispered horridly. "You want me to bring her back here to you, so she can grow up. You'll turn her into a lady and she won't be the same. She won't tell stories and she won't play games. She won't be _my_ Wendy, not if I let her come back here".

Mrs Darling shook her head in sleep and a stray tear slipped out from beneath her closed lids.

"Wendy", she repeated, more clearly.

Peter scowled. "We can't both have her, lady. I like her too".

He wondered what would happen if he was to shut the window. Let Wendy come back to a house that was closed to her, to a family that had forgotten her. She would go back with him to the theatre and they could be together forever…

But the image of Mrs Darling's tears would not leave his head, not matter how many times he looked away or told her he hated her. Because the truth was he did hate her. He hated her because she loved Wendy and that meant only one thing: that he would not close the window. That he would instead descended out of it and return to the theatre, to say good-bye to Wendy and let her leave. Without anyone ever knowing he'd been to the house, or the terrible things he'd contemplated doing.

Wendy was ready to leave when he returned. She'd found the rucksack she'd brought with her from home and had packed what little they'd brought. She was still wearing the dress the boys had made her and her coat over it. John wore his crumpled top hat like a souvenir and Michael clutched the bear Wendy had sewn him.

"When you're ready, I'll take you back", he said.

"If you don't mind, Peter, we'd rather go ourselves", Wendy looked around at the mournful faces of the Lost Boys. "We think it would be easier to say good-bye here".

Peter's lips thinned, but he simply replied: "If you wish it".

Curly sobbed like a broken water pump when he had to let Michael go. He didn't want to go back to being the youngest _and_ loose his best friend. Peter led the siblings up the stairs and through the theatre towards the exit.

"You'll have to use the stage door around the side", he told them. "The main entrance is still locked".

"We will".

"You know your way back from here?"

"Yes, I remember it quite clearly".

They had stopped around the corner from the stage, a place Peter didn't feel he wanted to be near for a while. At least not while Wendy was still in the building. Michael, who was still sniffling a bit, ducked forward and wrapped his arms around Peter's knees and Peter patted him nicely on the shoulder. John shook his hand and Peter afterwards held his own hand out for Wendy to shake.

"You will be okay, won't you?" Wendy found herself asking.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

Having no response for that, she felt there was no other course then to shake his hand. He certainly didn't seem to want a thimble.

"Well…" Peter looked at them in turn. "Goodbye".

Without a further word he turned and walked back the way they had come. It was enough to make Wendy cry again, but seeing her brothers sad, solemn faces she swallowed her tears and pushed her shoulders back.

"Right", she said, picking up her trunk. "Let's go home".

The trio marched themselves through the weaving maze of corridors and finally came in sight of the exit door. However, they were not quite within reach of it when the door in front of them burst open and a heavyset man in an overcoat jumped out. Wendy gasped as the man grabbed her arms and stared intently into her face.

"Wendy Darling?" he asked.

John and Michael were just as shocked as their sister to have this stranger speak her name. A second man, dressed similarly, but sporting a bushy ginger beard, stepped out behind his colleague.

"And John and Michael, right?"

The first man shook his head in a disappointed fashion. "Your parents are very worried about you".

Ginger-beard nodded in agreement. "But don't worry, kiddos. We're here to take you home".

On the other side of the door, Hook stood in Mr Barrie's office, listening to the officers tell the children who they were and how the entirety of London had been searching for them. Michael started crying in earnest. The idea of his mother worrying about him when he'd almost forgotten he had a mother, was too much for such a young boy to take in.

Hook waited until he heard their footsteps walking away and then the sound of the bolt being drawn back on the side door. Once he was sure they'd left, he stepped out from Barrie's office and allowed himself a smile. Smee emerged from behind him and stared at the door the guards had left by with the children.

"All going to plan then, Captain?" he said.

Hook nodded roguishly. "Indeed. Better then I'd hoped, judging by their reactions".

He leaned back against the doorframe and caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone had been standing at the end of the corridor. Someone who had evidently heard what had been going on in the office. The top of Hook's lip curled up and he felt his hands itch for the familiar feel of his blade.

He knew that girl was going to be trouble.

Peter had never seen the Lost Boys looking so sullen. They all sat on their respective beds: not talking, not playing, not _anything_. They just sat and stared and it reminded him in a sickening way of how Mr and Mrs Darling had been. He was sitting at the bottom of the stairs, (the best place to observe them), when there was a loud crash overhead and Tinker Bell came plummeting down towards him.

"Woah! Tink, what's wrong?" Nibs asked worriedly, pulling the pixie haired girl back to her feet.

She gasped and panted, having run the length of the backstage corridors to get to the boys sooner.

"It's Hook", she heaved.

"What's happened?" Peter asked, moving closer.

"He's had them taken away", she clutched the banister of the stairs and straightened herself up, staring at the boys with a more serious look then they'd ever seen her give. "Wendy and her brothers: Hook had the police take them away!"

"_What?_" Peter cried.

"He's blaming Barrie. He's told them that Barrie has been integrating himself in a lot of shady deals recently and that he kidnapped the Darling children in order to get a ransom out of their parents".

"That's crazy! Jimmy would never say that about Mr Barrie! You must have heard wrong", Peter insisted.

"I heard Hook say it himself! He told them Mr Barrie had been forcing the children to work as slaves and he's got his people behind him on it. Smee, Starkey, all the people he's been training recently: they're all agreeing to Hook's claims on Barrie. He's even got them willing to back him as a gentlemen when the time comes to elect a new manager".

"What are you talking about?"

Tinker Bell grabbed Peter's shoulders, determined to make him understand.

"The theatre, Peter! If they find enough dirt going on inside it, they'll order it to be closed down. Unless they can find a 'perfectly respectable gentleman' to take Barrie's place".

"But what about Mr Barrie? Can't he do anything?"

"They think he's a kidnapper, Peter. They're going to arrest him. Peter, they're going to arrest him and shut down the theatre. Neverland will be gone!"

**[End Of Part Three]**


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